But other people could barely endure one three-year stint after another. These people had worked undercover for decades. It was grueling work, and only the truly devoted could pull it off.
That was why she had gone to such lengths to poach Grindelwald's people.
The upside was that, once she returned seventy years into the future, these people would already be deeply entrenched in the Wizarding World. She could take over a vast, fully developed organization ready to go.
Wasn't that far better than painstakingly training her own subordinates from scratch?
Grindelwald watched her quietly delighting in herself and asked,
"Did you really come from seventy years in the future?"
Even now, it still felt somewhat unreal to him.
Back at the Lestrange family cemetery, he had agreed to bring the Pure-Blood Party into the Witch Cult and place himself under Hermione's command, but he had actually set three conditions.
First, defeat him head-on.
Second, tell him where she really came from.
Third, tell him where these magical traditions, so completely unlike anything in the present Wizarding World, had come from.
Hermione had fulfilled the first two conditions on the spot. As for the third, she had promised to explain once everything had settled.
Now it was time to honor that promise.
Hermione said nothing. She simply reached into her pocket and took out an hourglass.
Fine, emerald-green sand flowed within it.
Grindelwald reached toward it. The instant his fingers neared its edge, he felt a peculiar fluctuation of magical power rippling through the surroundings. That power was not only dense and heavy; it also carried a sluggish resistance that seemed to warp time itself.
There was no doubt that it was temporal energy.
So when he had first met her here, she had happened to block the attack on