Dumbledore and The Great Wizarding War

The high-altitude wind whipped across the ruined platform, sending tattered banners flapping like wounded birds against the thin Bhutanese air. Albus Dumbledore inhaled slowly, tasting ash and the remnants of powerful spellwork on his tongue. Sunlight filtered through lingering clouds of debris, illuminating shattered wood planks and scorched fabric. Only hours ago, this summit had been a vibrant stage of international wizarding cooperation. Now it lay in wreckage and ruin.

Dumbledore stood amid the chaos, the crisp mountain cold biting at his skin. Official voices echoed in the distance, some calm, some edging on hysteria: Aurors, ministry representatives, and onlookers scurried about, trying to make sense of the devastation. Yet in this swirling confusion, Dumbledore's focus lay elsewhere. He felt a strange stillness in his chest, an emptiness where a binding magic had once existed. The blood pact with Grindelwald—broken. He could practically feel the invisible chain that had once tethered his wand arm absent now, a sense of freedom overshadowed by a stab of guilt. Grindelwald should never have escaped. 

Across the cracked stone, Aberforth Dumbledore knelt with Credence barebone in his arms. The young man's face was gaunt and drained, his trembling fingers curled around Aberforth's wrist. Each rasping breath was a reminder that an Obscurial's life could be measured in moments if not tended to urgently. 

Albus' mind flickered with relief that the blood pact no longer inhibited him. But relief felt indulgent. Grindelwald was gone, and the consequences of letting him slip away weighed heavily. He approached Aberforth, who was fumbling through the pockets of his robe for a healing tonic or salve. The mountain wind snatched at his curses.

"We have to get him help," Aberforth said, voice tight with worry. "Can you conjure a stretcher, or is that too fancy for these blasted wards?"

Albus examined Credence's pale features. Fine lines of dark energy danced along the boy's temples, hints of the Obscurial simmering beneath his skin. "We can't stay here," Albus managed quietly over the sudden gust. "Every second we waste—"

As Aberforth tried a simple healing charm, his wand sputtered and sparked. It was enough to cause Credence to stir and groan. Aberforth let out a huff. "Healing charms refuse to behave on mountaintops, apparently," he grumbled. Credence's eyes rolled, and he muttered something too soft to hear. Aberforth's tone took on a humorous note despite the circumstances. "Damn fancy spells. Always goes haywire in the wilderness."

Before Albus could respond, the clatter of boots on shattered wood pulled them from their task. A contingent of international Aurors advanced in a wedge formation, wands at the ready. Their stern faces betrayed equal measures of suspicion and urgency. One Auror at the front—his face shiny with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead—pointed a trembling wand. Bits of scorched parchment fluttered in the breeze around him.

"Albus Dumbledore," the Auror barked, "which direction did Grindelwald flee? Did you duel him directly?"

Albus kept his tone measured, though his pulse hammered. He knew the game well enough: say too much, and bureaucratic red tape would tangle any rescue attempt. Say too little, and the Aurors would never let him leave. "I understand your urgency," he said. "But Credence Barebone needs immediate medical care."

A second Auror, eyeing the chaos with battered nerves, tried to step forward but stumbled on broken planks. He dropped his wand, which clattered and rolled perilously close to a gap in the platform. Only when he scrambled after it, cheeks burning in embarrassment, did the tension around them wobble for a moment. The comedic slip momentarily broke the heavy strain, though no one dared laugh aloud.

Over nearby rubble, ministry officials from across the globe had begun hurling accusations at one another, all fighting for attention. A South American representative waved an official parchment, shouting about security failures; a British undersecretary shot back about inadequate intelligence from the German wizarding office. Meanwhile, Theseus Scamander hovered amidst the fray, voice raised in an attempt to bring order. Frustration etched in every line of his face, he struggled to refocus them on the more pressing matter: Grindelwald, newly liberated and possibly unstoppable.

In the midst of this upheaval, Credence's breath caught in his throat. Each inhalation seemed more forced than the last. Beneath the ragged remnants of his cloak, faint flares of tainted magic sparked along his arms. Albus knelt beside Aberforth, pressing two fingers lightly against Credence's neck. The boy's pulse was dangerously weak.

"They want their answers," Albus murmured to his brother. "But he can't survive their bureaucracy."

Aberforth's bitter laugh was more a snarl. "If they want to question us, they can do it when the boy doesn't risk losing his life." His wand hand shook with the effort to keep Credence from slipping into unconsciousness. 

Albus nodded, mind already calculating the safest route of Apparition. The wards around Bhutan were formidable under normal circumstances, but the magical meltdown from Grindelwald's onslaught had left them unstable. Apparating three people out could be risky. Still, the alternative was unthinkable. He couldn't let Credence die here.

"Step aside!" an Auror in rank insignia demanded, jabbing a piece of parchment in front of Albus. His moustache twitched with indignation. "We need a statement. All travel is to be halted until—"

"Until my son is out of danger," Aberforth cut in, voice hoarse and unwavering. "Any of you tries to stop us, and you'll have a raging Obscurial on your hands. See how that sits with your precious protocols."

The Aurors flinched at the word Obscurial. For a moment, a hush fell on that corner of the summit, the officials glancing anxiously at the trembling figure on the ground. Few dared speak. Aware that time was short, Albus rose to his feet and scanned the debris once more.

There, near a scorched plank, lay what remained of the blood-pact vial. Its broken shards glinted in the sunlight, the magical essence within long gone. For a heartbeat, Albus considered scooping up the fragments to study them later—analyzing any trace that might reveal Grindelwald's vulnerabilities. Then he remembered Credence's fragile breath. His choice was clear. He stooped quickly, palming a small shard of the broken charm before turning his back on the rest.

In the distance, a group of wizards huddled near the shattered wards, muttering to one another in hushed tones. Albus picked up snippets of conversation: "All of Grindelwald's people... vanished into the clouds… He had half his followers scatter like ghosts." Another hush. "He's out there, regrouping. No telling what he'll do."

A part of Albus's mind burned to chase Grindelwald immediately. Yet the objective side of him realized that in an hour or two, they might be able to track any residual traces of his spells. Credence's clock, on the other hand, ticked far louder. He turned to Aberforth—a subtle nod. They would do it now, before the next wave of demands or uninformed accusations locked them in place.

"Dumbledore," came a stern voice behind him. A high-ranking official wearing a medley of official badges stomped forward, brow furrowed. "There is a strict protocol to follow after an incident of this magnitude. Shall I remind you of the legal ramifications of ignoring it?"

Albus's patience frayed. "I have no desire to hinder your investigation. But Credence's life hangs in the balance." He exchanged a meaningful glance with Aberforth, who carefully gathered the boy in his arms.

"That does not excuse leaving without providing a statement!" The official jabbed a parchment. Albus recognized the crest of the International Confederation of Wizards. This might cause trouble… but he had no choice.

Before the official could continue, Albus swept his wand upward. A shimmering barrier—an advanced Protego—manifested between himself, Aberforth, and the official. The official staggered, stumbling away from the gleaming magical wall. Furious shouts erupted, but the barrier held firm.

From somewhere behind, another bureaucrat tried to recite some regulation in a booming voice. But a sudden gust of mountain air ripped the parchment from his hand and sent his words scattering on the wind. He scrambled helplessly after the pages, losing what little authority he tried to project. 

Warily, the Aurors retreated, their eyes flicking from Albus's barrier to Credence's flickering aura. They seemed to sense that any direct confrontation might end badly for everyone involved. Albus lowered the shimmering field just enough to speak clearly. "You have more pressing matters—much more pressing than me—out there." His words carried a heavier weight than usual. Freed from the blood pact, the full presence of Albus Dumbledore resurged.

A hush fell, and many onlookers exchanged uneasy glances. Urgent whispers rose: "If Dumbledore is this powerful—imagine Grindelwald off the leash." This realization hovered like a dark cloud over the summit.

Albus let the barrier dissolve. He crouched beside Aberforth, who slung Credence's limp arm more securely over his shoulder. Credence's breath was ragged, his eyes flickering in and out of focus. A spark of the Obscurial shimmered across his veins, a salmon-pink wisp of dangerous energy.

Their priority was Hogwarts, the best-equipped place to treat a magical affliction that few fully understood. St. Mungo's was a possibility—yet Dumbledore believed that under the watchful eye of Hogwarts staff and the wards that protected the castle, they'd have more immediate resources to stabilize Credence.

Albus slipped a hand beneath Credence's arm to help support his weight. "We'll need a calm mind for Apparition," he reminded Aberforth quietly. "Concentrate on the destination more than the chaotic wards around us."

Aberforth gave a determined nod. "You think I'll let some bungled wards stop me from saving him? I'm no slouch." Still, Albus caught the flicker of nerves in his brother's eyes. Apparating through unstable wards could result in catastrophic splinching. But they had run out of time and options.

As Albus brought his wand forward, the battered remains of a once-proud banner snagged lightly on his sleeve. With an almost human-like persistence, it clung for just an instant, the summit itself seeming reluctant to let them go. He brushed it aside, steadying himself. The air buzzed with raw magical residue, complicating his focus. If he pictured Hogwarts strongly enough—its stone corridors, the Great Hall, the warmth of the hospital wing—maybe they'd make a clean exit.

He closed his eyes, gripping his wand with firm certainty. The battered platform fell away from his awareness. He imagined the gates of Hogwarts, the subtle shifting of the wards that protected the castle grounds, and the comforting presence of the place he had come to think of as home. 

Murmuring the incantation under his breath, Albus felt the magic coil around him, Aberforth, and Credence. Sparks flickered around their feet, dancing in the thinning air. Credence let out a soft, pained groan, and Aberforth pressed him closer, bracing for the dizzying jolt to come.

One final breath, and reality wrenched around them. A rush of compressed air swirled inwards, pulling the three Dumbledores from the summit in a swirl of crackling energy. The sound resembled a sharp thunderclap, reverberating through the broken platform.

Dust and scraps of stone soared upward in the Apparition's wake, swirling in the newly formed vacuum before drifting back down. Those Aurors or officials who had been in mid-shout or mid-protest were left coughing or blinking, momentarily robbed of their voices by the abrupt departure. The man brandishing the parchment—who had threatened Albus with the legal ramifications just seconds before—stood there, mouth open, shouting at nothing but empty air. His accusations echoed briefly, only to be strewn about by the howling wind.

A hush descended, although the pandemonium beyond the immediate circle continued. The wood planks still smoldered here and there, and an unfortunate official stumbled over a broken chunk of the dais. No one had a chance to demand further statements from Dumbledore or question his decision now. He was gone. Many gaped at the vacant spot on the platform where the three had stood.

For a moment, all that remained were footprints ground into the stone, scuffed at the edges as if someone had tried to erase them already. Colorful scraps of the kingdom's flags fluttered overhead, a quiet testament to the once grand assembly that had been laid to waste. 

"Theseus! Did you see that?" hissed one official to the equally stunned British representative. "We can't just let him vanish—there has to be an inquiry—"

Theseus Scamander, stone-faced, merely shook his head. "He'll have to answer eventually," he said, voice subdued. "But he's right—a life was at stake."

The swirling winds carried away bits of conversation. A few steps away, a cluster of wizards tried reactivating security wards in the aftermath of the assault, their incantations echoing across the stony heights. A single statement, whispered by a trembling bystander, punctured the uneasy quiet: "He's gone… but Grindelwald's still out there."