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Ian had seen it in Dumbledore's memories.
"So… you never figured out these runes either?" Ian already guessed the answer but asked anyway.
"Correct."
Grindelwald's confirmation was expected. However, as he looked down at the parchments, his tone shifted slightly.
"But I can try to help. Honestly, this is my first time seeing alchemical runes like these." That part surprised Ian.
"You said you studied another Hallow…?"
Ian was confused.
Did the Elder Wand follow a different system?
"Not everyone is as uniquely gifted as you," Grindelwald said, carefully tucking the parchments into his robes— treating them far more preciously than Ian's "masterpiece."
"You're worthy of uncovering these secrets. It proves I made the right choice." Grindelwald seemed pleased, abandoning his earlier plan to sleep.
Before Ian could wonder why other wizards couldn't see the runes on the Resurrection Stone,
"Care to improve your Fiendfyre?" Grindelwald suddenly asked, cheerful.
"It performed well before, but… there's room for improvement." The unexpected offer caught Ian off guard.
"Sure!" Ian immediately ditches his original plans.
A hot bath could wait, but personal Fiendfyre lessons from Grindelwald? That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
…
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Seventh Floor...
Inside the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, Dumbledore— having just bid farewell to Grindelwald and then to caretaker Filch (who had submitted a "punishment" request)— finally had a moment to sit down and enjoy a cup of tea.
Of course, the tea was the same old blend, and even with extra sugar (enough to qualify as a diabetic's worst nightmare), Dumbledore found no joy in it today.
"It has to be him who took it!"
Clearly, Albus Dumbledore was still fixated on his missing belongings. On his desk lay a plain envelope— opened, but now empty save for a single letter.
There should have been a photograph inside as well.
"Are you certain none of you saw him take anything?" Dumbledore looked up at the portraits of past headmasters, all of whom shook their heads helplessly.
"You've asked us this dozens of times now. We only saw the boy hand him a small trinket— nothing was taken from your precious envelope."
Some of the portraits sounded downright exasperated.
"If he didn't take the photograph, and you insist no one else approached where I kept my letters… then perhaps you've been placed under a spell without realizing it."
Dumbledore's frown deepened, his expression grave.
"No one can cast a Memory Charm on a portrait, Dumbledore. That's impossible—we're not truly alive," one former headmaster stated firmly.
"Indeed. Unless someone can rewrite reality itself and alter the fundamental laws of magic," Phineas Black's portrait added with a mocking chuckle, as if calling Dumbledore senile.
"You're right, of course."
Just as Dumbledore, unable to sit still, began rummaging through his office again, a measured knock sounded at the door.
"Come in, Minerva."
Dumbledore hastily straightened the books he'd scattered and composed himself, assuming a dignified expression as Professor McGonagall entered.
"I've inspected every statue in the castle. None show signs of recent activation." McGonagall's weary face was lined with concern.
Now it made sense why she had rushed off after class earlier.
"Perhaps it was a false alarm from Hogwarts itself." Dumbledore settled back into his chair, smiling serenely— as if completely unbothered.
His calm only made McGonagall's frown tighten further.
"We both know Hogwarts doesn't make mistakes. Someone did use that magic last night." Her gaze was sharp, unwavering.
"Even if Voldemort returned, he couldn't command the castle's guardians. That requires authorization— and as of now, only you and I possess it."
Dumbledore's smile didn't falter. His eyes, behind half-moon spectacles, remained as tranquil as a still lake— so much so that McGonagall instinctively averted her gaze.
"Indeed. Only the two of us have that privilege. And I certainly don't sleepwalk… so, who does that leave?" McGonagall exhaled heavily.
"According to the founders' decree, the guardians may only be summoned in times of crisis. I've followed that rule strictly— to this day, I've never used that magic!"
Her tone was almost indignant.
"It wasn't me. I'm not so old that I'd forget my own actions." Though Dumbledore had his suspicions, McGonagall's glare made him shake his head.
Perhaps the current Head of Gryffindor wasn't his equal in magical prowess, but Dumbledore did fear the possibility of an hours-long lecture from the formidable witch.
Even from meters away, he could feel the weight of McGonagall's disapproval.
"So, shouldn't we investigate together to figure out what went wrong last night? I'm truly worried that someone has cracked the magic left behind by the founders."
Professor McGonagall wasn't sure whether she should believe Dumbledore's words, but she had already noticed how strangely he had been acting lately.
Faced with Professor McGonagall's suggestion, Dumbledore simply maintained his smile.
"We must trust the magic left by the founders, and we must believe in their strength. Perhaps last night, the statues simply grew tired of staying in one place and decided to move around on their own," Dumbledore said, attempting to deflect with what he thought was a humorous remark.
"I'm not joking, Albus. If there really is a dangerous individual lurking in Hogwarts, we have a responsibility to ensure the safety of our students," Professor McGonagall replied, her tone unwavering.
The elder cat-lady was insistent on thoroughness.
"Of course, I understand that. So, please trust me as well, Minerva, Hogwarts is safer now than it has ever been," Dumbledore responded with equal seriousness, finally easing some of McGonagall's concerns.
"Quirrell is acting suspiciously," She revealed, explaining the reason for her heightened vigilance. Between the failure to find You-Know-Who in the Forbidden Forest the previous day and the odd behavior of the professor, McGonagall had naturally picked up on some clues.
"Hmm, I'm aware. And I hope you'll pretend not to notice anything, just as I am," Dumbledore nodded, causing McGonagall's eyes to widen.
"So it is him after all!" McGonagall had only been speculating earlier.
"It's already quite obvious, isn't it? I still need to extract some information from him, so we mustn't startle the snake." Dumbledore's tone was steady as he reminded her.
"Aren't you afraid your negligence will put the students in danger? That's… that's You-Know-Who! Have you forgotten the slaughters he committed? His madness?" McGonagall's frown deepened, her gaze at Dumbledore now filled with deep disapproval.
Dumbledore did not avert his eyes.
"Many eyes are watching him. And until the hope he seeks is either fulfilled or shattered, he won't— and dare not— do anything that would truly provoke me." The tone of the strongest white wizard of the century was resolute.
"He's a madman… Expecting a madman to act rationally— have you lost your mind as well?" McGonagall's understanding of Voldemort clearly paled in comparison to Dumbledore's.
Dumbledore stood and walked to the window.
"He is mad but not completely mad. So he knows what he can and cannot do. With his options dwindling, I believe he will still act as the shrewd, self-serving student he once was… the clever one who understood what Hogwarts means to me."
There was an indescribable weight in Dumbledore's voice.
"You're gambling," McGonagall said, her tone sharp.
She didn't know what Dumbledore was scheming, but she still couldn't accept his recklessness— it felt like he was risking the students' lives.
"Perhaps… but it's the best plan I have," Dumbledore's voice carried a hint of resignation. If he wanted to locate the other Horcruxes, this was the only way to lure them out.
Truthfully, it wasn't that much of a risk.
(To Be Continued…)