— — — — — —
Dumbledore had no intention of chasing Grindelwald. He simply stepped forward, bent down, and reached for the shattered wand on the ground. The moment his fingers brushed it, the fragments crumbled into dust. The fury in his blue eyes faded, replaced by a heavy, troubled weight.
He had never been certain of Grindelwald's true strength, but now he finally understood. Grindelwald hadn't grown weaker at all. He had become stronger.
Without the Elder Wand, he had already surpassed the Grindelwald of decades past… and surpassed the Dumbledore from back then as well.
Magic, spirit, even his physical condition at its absolute peak—everything about him bothered Dumbledore. It was as if time had left no mark on Grindelwald whatsoever.
But he…
Albus Dumbledore exhaled slowly. His hand trembled. He had held the advantage today, and if the fight had continued he would almost certainly have won. But only if his body could last long enough for Grindelwald to tire out.
He was old. His magic and skill continued to grow, but his body kept declining, becoming a burden he could no longer ignore.
"A Horcrux…?"
The thought crept into Dumbledore's mind. Because of Voldemort, it was the first possibility that came to him. Other dark rituals might have similar effects, but their drawbacks were far more obvious, and he hadn't sensed anything wrong or unstable about Grindelwald's condition.
"These are troubled times…"
One thing was clear now. Defeating Grindelwald quickly was impossible. The wizarding world would inevitably face years of turmoil.
Dumbledore turned and swept his wand in a wide arc. The frozen Fiendfyre meteors overhead collapsed together into a massive sphere of water and were snuffed out. Once he finished, he walked toward the bridge, where Tom was teasing Aberforth.
"Old man, you stormed in here all righteous and furious just to take a Cruciatus from Grindelwald? How's it feel? Hurt?"
Aberforth glared at him. "Why don't you try it and find out?"
"I'm not into self-harm," Tom said with a grin.
He didn't need to ask. Grindelwald had definitely hit hard.
Dumbledore approached, and Aberforth immediately demanded, "Why didn't you go after him? You could've beaten him!"
"Because I can't hold him," Dumbledore answered honestly. "Unlike our duel back then, Grindelwald had no intention of fighting to the death today. If he wants to run, I can't stop him."
"It's your fault for not killing him all those years ago. You showed mercy!" Aberforth roared. "Did you hear the way he talked about Ariana?! He doesn't care at all! Not about her, not about you!"
Dumbledore fell silent, staring at the sunflower seed shells scattered on the ground.
None of the other professors dared interfere in the Dumbledore family's pain. A strange, heavy silence lingered—until the sound of rushing wind came from the distance. Several dozen witches and wizards on brooms raced toward Hogwarts.
McGonagall spoke first. "It should be the Aurors. I alerted Fudge and Scrimgeour before I came. They responded faster than I expected."
It looked a bit like they were arriving just in time to take credit after the battle ended, but in truth barely half an hour had passed since McGonagall contacted them. Their speed wasn't bad.
The Aurors landed quickly, with Scrimgeour himself leading them. His sharp, predatory gaze swept the area. He paused briefly when he noticed Tom, a student, in the middle of the battlefield, then ignored him completely.
"Dumbledore. Where is Grindelwald?"
"He fled."
"Why didn't you stop him?" Scrimgeour demanded.
Dumbledore didn't reply. He just looked at him mildly, and once again Tom's earlier opinion of Scrimgeour echoed in his mind with painful accuracy—Fudge was smarter than this man. At least Fudge didn't parade his foolishness around with pride.
Scrimgeour, however, displayed it boldly and seemed proud of it.
"Rufus," Dumbledore said calmly, "I'm limited by my age. Grindelwald nearly tore me apart. I barely forced him back. But he won't be in great shape either. Do you plan to chase him?"
Scrimgeour's eyes lit up at the thought of earning some glory. Luckily, someone still had their head screwed on straight. Kingsley Shacklebolt grabbed his sleeve and murmured, "Sir… look over there."
Kingsley flicked a Lumos Charm toward the battlefield. Gasps rippled through the gathered Aurors, and the temperature around them seemed to climb.
The ground ahead, which should've been a flat stretch of earth, had collapsed into a massive crater. The deepest part sank nearly ten meters below the surrounding terrain. Dark fumes seeped from cracks in the soil, carrying a thick, unmistakable stench of dark magic.
That was the result of the duel between Grindelwald and Dumbledore.
"Are we really going after Grindelwald?" Shacklebolt asked quietly.
Scrimgeour said nothing. He wanted to nod, to say "You lot go ahead, I'll return to the Ministry and fetch backup," but he knew the moment he said it he'd lose what little authority he had. Nobody would even listen.
He cleared his throat. "Dumbledore, I need a full report."
Dumbledore nodded. "I'll come to the Ministry tomorrow. But tonight, I need to calm the students and the faculty. There are other matters I must deal with. Thank you for coming."
Scrimgeour clearly heard the underlying message: "Leave." He didn't press the matter. Fudge would be waiting for his report anyway.
Once the Aurors hurried off, Dumbledore led the group back toward the castle. The halls were unnervingly quiet.
Every common room doorway had a professor stationed like a guard.
"They gone?" someone whispered.
"Of course they're gone. Dumbledore has to get back inside to settle the students. He wouldn't chase Grindelwald into the dark. What if it was a trap?"
Not long after Dumbledore and the others disappeared into the castle, two figures emerged from a thicket on the hillside. Bellatrix Lestrange and Gilderoy Lockhart slipped off their shadow cloaks.
They stared at each other in miserable silence.
"Are we still… infiltrating the castle?" Lockhart croaked.
Hard to say whether they were unlucky or miraculously fortunate.
They had spent months hiding in the Lestrange ancestral manor, recovering while plotting how to kill Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. Bella had even leaked false information to the Ministry to keep attention focused on Hogwarts and the surrounding area.
After months of good food and rest, both were looking noticeably healthier. They'd just stolen a newspaper from a wizarding family and learned that the Dementors had withdrawn.
Bella had decided that meant Hogwarts was at its weakest, the perfect moment to strike.
They crept to Hogsmeade, planning to slip into the school through one of the secret passages. Then Grindelwald showed up. If the battle had shifted just a few meters in their direction, they would've been obliterated.
They didn't dare run or even twitch. All they could do was cower and pray they wouldn't be hit by a stray spell. The leaking aura alone had nearly drained the life out of them.
"Still going?" Bella muttered. She might've been insane, but she wasn't suicidal. After what she just witnessed, even a glance from Dumbledore felt like it could knock her flat.
And after Grindelwald's attack, the castle would definitely be crawling with patrolling professors.
"Then… what do we do?" Lockhart whispered.
Seeing that Bella had no intention of charging in to die, Lockhart exhaled shakily. He'd never expected to get revenge on his own anyway, but Bella rarely listened to reason, so he had followed her out of fear more than loyalty.
"…We find Master." Bella took a deep breath and stood. Her legs nearly gave out from crouching so long, and she had to grab a sapling to steady herself. "The true Dark Lord is our master. Grindelwald is just Dumbledore's failed opponent. The Master is in Albania. We help him recover, and he'll personally kill Potter and Riddle."
"Then let's go. This place is way too dangerous." Lockhart urged.
Bella shot him a look full of disdain. She hated how cowardly he was… but she still grabbed his shoulder and Apparated them away.
---
Back in the Headmaster's office
Dumbledore rested in his soft chair with his eyes closed, looking more worn-out than anyone had ever seen him.
"Professor… there's nothing here that needs me anymore, right?" Tom asked. He still didn't know why he'd been dragged along.
"Tom," Dumbledore said, opening his eyes at last, "what did you think of the battle?"
"In what sense?"
"Grindelwald's strength. His character."
"Do you even need to ask?" Aberforth snapped. "He's a bastard. A menace. The world would be better off if he never existed."
Inside Tom's study space, Grindelwald nodded thoughtfully. "Still too soft… next time I'll teach him a lesson he won't be able to speak through."
Tom shrugged. "He's… strong. Strong enough that I can't beat him right now."
"The future belongs to you, Tom," Dumbledore said with a small smile. "Perhaps one day, you'll be the one to stop Grindelwald and bring him to justice."
Tom stared at him. "…Yeah, of course."
Of course, no.
He wasn't about to arrest the man he himself had released.
"Thank you for stopping the Protego Diabolica earlier," Dumbledore added. "One hundred points to Slytherin. And once you get back, please help reassure the other students. The school is safe. There's no need for fear."
"Alright, Professor. I'll head back."
Tom fed some herbs to Fawkes before leaving the office.
---
At the entrance to the Slytherin dorms, he ran into Professor Sinistra, who nearly jumped out of her skin. She'd assumed he'd snuck out of the castle.
Instead, he explained he had never returned to begin with.
When she heard that Grindelwald had already left, Sinistra sagged with relief. None of the professors had ever experienced anything like today. They had never imagined that someone would dare attack Hogwarts while Dumbledore was alive.
Even Voldemort at his most arrogant had never done such a thing. Yet today it happened. The old generation really did burn hotter.
...
When Tom walked into the Slytherin common room, almost everyone rushed toward him at once…
.
.
.