Outside Hogsmeade, the once-thriving landscape had been reduced to a scorched wasteland. The forest, stretching for hundreds of meters, had vanished entirely, with only rising wisps of steam marking the aftermath of destruction.
Dumbledore stood amidst the devastation, his wand still in hand.
Around him, more than a dozen bodies lay among the ruins, their forms fused with the charred earth.
A swirling cloud of black smoke drifted in, cutting through the lingering heat.
With a calm expression and steady breath, Dumbledore looked up as the thick mist coalesced, taking the form of a tall, black-robed figure.
"I thought you might leave a few alive." Snape's voice was quiet, though the acrid scent of burnt flesh made him frown and cover his nose with a sleeve.
"Riddle was willing to let them die just to delay me. The question is— what was he trying to protect?" Dumbledore's piercing gaze fell on Snape's empty hands.
It was clear he already suspected what had transpired at Hogwarts.
"The item is likely lost; Ronnie Ehrlich may have taken it before he died... or it could be with young Grindelwald." Snape's eyes lingered on the charred remains of the fallen Death Eaters.
The sight was deeply unsettling—twisted, blackened forms barely recognizable as human. The sheer brutality of the magic used here was terrifying, a stark reminder of both the fragility of life and the devastating power of wizardry. It made Snape, the sole witness, feel the weight of Dumbledore's strength once more.
"If the item weren't lost, Riddle wouldn't be acting with such desperation." Dumbledore nodded, his face unreadable. Then, he turned to Snape. "Do you know what he was after?"
Snape had a strong suspicion that Voldemort's coveted object was in Ian's possession— but he dared not say it aloud.
This was no longer the Dumbledore he had once known. Until he understood what had changed, he wasn't sure if he could trust him.
"I have some theories. In his more lucid years, he returned to me with a request. Perhaps he hid something of great importance at Hogwarts when he came back and I refused him." Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes locked onto Snape's.
"The very thing we've been searching for."
Dumbledore's words made Snape's expression flicker ever so slightly.
He quickly averted his gaze.
"What about Marcus Flint?" Snape asked abruptly, unwilling to entertain the idea that one of his own students might be among the casualties.
"The one who cast the Imperius Curse on Mr. Flint wasn't a Death Eater. I left him in Hogsmeade, watched over by someone I trust— though that trust may be met with resentment."
Dumbledore's response eased Snape's mind slightly. At least the headmaster had not been so ruthless as to eliminate Hogwarts students along with the Death Eaters.
"It seems you've dealt with the one who killed Ronnie Ehrlich." Snape spoke in a low voice, frowning slightly. But to his surprise, Dumbledore shook his head.
"I took certain measures, but the culprit remains elusive. The only ones awaiting me here were pawns— sacrifices Riddle sent to die."
There was a note of resignation in Dumbledore's voice. Even a wizard of his power had limits.
"You warned me that the true mastermind sought to frame me. But without the real culprit in sight, how can you be sure this isn't simply a ploy by Death Eaters who despise me for betraying them?" Snape's frown deepened. "Isn't the presence of these Death Eaters proof enough of that?"
Dumbledore let out a quiet sigh.
"I have examined their memories. Their orders were to incite a massacre—to draw me here. What they did not anticipate was my arrival before they could carry out their plan."
His voice dropped lower. "In a way, the one who cast the Imperius Curse may have unwittingly saved Hogsmeade from needless devastation."
The implication made Snape's eyes narrow.
"Are you certain your old friend remains where he ought to be?" He could not help but dwell on the possibility, though he preferred to believe it was mere coincidence.
Anything else would be far more troubling.
"Quite certain."
Dumbledore's reply was firm.
"Then you should check young Grindelwald's memories. I stand by my judgment—only she could have poisoned Ronnie Ehrlich."
"Ah, Foleyson Carrow was nothing more than a disposable pawn— a recent recruit among the Death Eaters. He lacked the capability to orchestrate Ehrlich's death."
Snape's voice was steady, resolute.
"Foleyson Carrow is dead, isn't he?" Dumbledore did not answer at once. Instead, he asked the question with quiet certainty, already aware of the answer.
"That's what I wanted to tell you. He ambushed Ian on the Seventh Floor, forcing Ian to defend himself. He had no choice but to use Fiendfyre."
Snape felt a sinking weight settle in his chest.
However—
"You let that child face Foleyson Carrow alone?" Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, his tone edged with something unreadable.
"I only told him to keep an eye on Carrow in the Great Hall, but the fool decided to follow him all the way to the Seventh Floor."
A shiver ran down Snape's spine under Dumbledore's piercing stare.
"Fortunately, the boy is resourceful. He killed Carrow with Fiendfyre and walked away unscathed." Snape's voice was measured, though he was already bracing himself. "It was young Grindelwald— do you realize that? She must have taught him the spell!"
His words carried a sharp edge of frustration.
His feelings were conflicted, but his distaste for Aurora Grindelwald was genuine. He could not shake the belief that she— out of sheer recklessness or worse— had led Ian astray. Ian, who was only a Muggle-born with an insatiable hunger for magic.
"A first-year wielding Fiendfyre? I imagine that took Carrow by surprise."
To Snape's shock, Dumbledore did not sound remotely outraged. If anything, there was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.
"It's fortunate nothing went terribly wrong."
Snape stared. He had fully expected Dumbledore to express outrage, perhaps even immediate disciplinary action.
After all, not two years ago, a student had been expelled simply for attempting to learn the Killing Curse— before they had even mastered it. Everyone knew Dumbledore had no tolerance for the Dark Arts.
"What is wrong with you?"
Dumbledore tilted his head at Snape's incredulous expression.
"I will give him detention." Snape found himself grasping for control of the situation. "He needs to understand that some magic should never be learned— let alone used."
"He should not be condemned for protecting the school and his classmates." Dumbledore's voice was gentle, yet firm. "Evil resides in the wizard, not the spell. You, of all people, should understand that."
There was even a small smile playing at his lips.
"???"
Snape found himself momentarily speechless.
Ian had claimed Dumbledore was aware of his abilities. Snape had dismissed it as an excuse— a lie meant to shield himself from discipline.
But now?
Now, it seemed Dumbledore had genuinely known.
And worse— he did not disapprove.
"But…"
Snape hesitated. He had no desire for Ian to be expelled— or worse, thrown into Azkaban— but this?
Dumbledore was being too lenient.
Was this truly the same Albus Dumbledore who abhorred the Dark Arts?
Since when was learning Fiendfyre not cause for immediate expulsion?
His gaze flickered over the fallen Death Eaters.
And suddenly, an unsettling thought crept into his mind.
Perhaps Dumbledore really had lost his mind.
"St. Mungo's is open through the night. Come along." Snape moved to take Dumbledore's arm, only for the older wizard to step back, puzzled.
"I only asked you to feign injury. Did you truly hurt yourself?" Dumbledore peered at him, as if searching for signs of damage.
"…"
Snape's expression twisted.
"Miss Grindelwald returns to Hogwarts tomorrow. I want you to keep an eye on her."
The order came without preamble.
"Didn't you just say she wasn't responsible?" Snape narrowed his eyes, thrown by the sudden shift.
Indeed, it was as he thought, Dumbledore had lost his mind.
He was contradicting himself.
"I have my suspicions." Dumbledore's gaze drifted toward Hogwarts, his voice quiet, almost distant. "But I wish to know what young Miss Grindelwald knows."
Snape had no time to ponder the implications before Dumbledore turned away.
"You should go."
His tone left no room for argument.
"And you?"
Snape did not move.
"I have preparations to make— to take some precautionary measures."
Dumbledore hesitated, then turned back, pressing an object into Snape's hand before striding off into the night.
The tower loomed high upon the cliffside, the waves below crashing violently against the rocks.
A faint tremor stirred the air.
Dumbledore's figure materialized at the tower's entrance, his robes shifting in the wind as the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon.
Even as the remnants of his Apparition faded, he felt it—
A presence.
Calmly, he lifted his gaze.
At the highest window, a shadowed figure stood motionless.
Their eyes met.
It was as though the figure had been waiting.
Waiting for him.
(End of Chapter)
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