Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Dire Debrief
Dumbledore stepped out of the hospital wing into a corridor faintly lit by the first rays of morning sunlight. His eyes felt gritty from a night spent on edge, but there was no time to seek rest. The castle's hush was broken by anxious whispers, and as he passed the tight-lipped figures of patrolling Prefects, he could sense how tense Hogwarts had become overnight. Doors that normally stood open at this hour were firmly locked; the glow of dawn only sharpened the look of worry on the faces of those few students and staff who peered out. Word of Credence's emergency return from Bhutan—coupled with Grindelwald's rumored role in it—had evidently spread.
He paused at the end of the corridor, taking a moment to compose himself. His flowing robes felt uncomfortably heavy, as if each thread carried the weight of the staff's suspicion. This was to be a hastily assembled meeting of Hogwarts's faculty, one in which he knew every detail he provided would be dissected. The very notion that someone might question his loyalties was somewhere between galling and heartbreaking, but he could hardly blame them. Grindelwald's name still carried enough terror to overshadow the dawn's brightness.
He continued past two teachers who stood murmuring in low voices. They nodded at him only stiffly, their gazes darting away. He picked up disjointed bits of their conversation—something about "an escaped prisoner" and "Ministry officials demanding accountability." If rumor had it that Grindelwald was free because of Dumbledore, he could hardly be surprised. The best he could do now was to face the situation head-on, provide what information he could, and keep Hogwarts secure in the face of whatever upheaval lay ahead.
As Dumbledore climbed a spiraling staircase, his thoughts churned with questions: Would the Headmistress maintain her trust in him, or had his past ties to Grindelwald already sowed permanent doubt? He pictured Credence lying in the hospital wing, unconscious and battered by the chaotic confrontation. Dumbledore felt an urgent responsibility to shield that boy—an Obscurial—who had only ever wanted answers about his own life. Now, Credence was in danger from more than just his own destructive power. Grindelwald would not stop. Dumbledore exhaled, schooling his features into calm composure. He must push aside personal fears. The future of Hogwarts was at stake.
At the top of the staircase, the faculty chamber door stood open. The circular room inside was lit by floating orbs of magical light. Heavy drapes covered most of the tall windows, but enough morning sun filtered in to cast diagonal beams across the floor. Arrayed around a long oval table, a number of professors had gathered—some with folded arms, some flipping through notes, all with a certain rigidity that spoke of deep concern. The Headmistress, seated at the far end with her chin perched on her clasped hands, turned when he stepped inside. He paused momentarily in the doorway, meeting her eyes.
"Good morning," Dumbledore said quietly, tipping his head in respectful greeting.
Nobody returned his greeting right away. The Headmistress cleared her throat, and the murmur that had been fluttering around the table stilled. Eulalie Hicks, near to the Headmistress, offered Dumbledore a small, encouraging nod. Her presence was a mild balm to his nerves. She held a thick healing tome pressed to her side, her stance direct but gentle. Across from her sat two veteran professors Dumbledore recognized more by reputation than personal familiarity. Their stern expressions promised rigorous questioning. Meanwhile, a younger staff member—by the look of it, a fresh hire in Ancient Runes—kept glancing from face to face as if trying to figure out whom to align with.
Dumbledore took a seat near the middle of the table, conscious of all eyes upon him. The tension pressed in as if it were a tangible force. He overheard half-finished threads of rumor: "Ministry's on high alert," "Bhutan fiasco," and "Dumbledore's ties to Grindelwald." That last snippet lodged in his chest like a shard of ice.
"All right," the Headmistress began, pressing her fingertips together. "Thank you all for assembling so quickly. Circumstances are dire, as we've all no doubt heard. However, we will maintain decorum." She leveled her gaze at the seated faculty. "Albus," she said, turning her attention to him, "we all respect your skill. Some of us have personal memories of your time here. But Hogwarts deserves the unvarnished truth."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "I am prepared to share what I can."
"We would like to start," said one of the older professors, a stern-faced wizard with neat silver hair, "by hearing precisely what took place in Bhutan—Grindelwald's apparent escape, Credence's injuries, and your involvement." His tone was courteous, but the underlying caution was unmistakable.
Dumbledore rose halfway, resting his palms on the edge of the table. "Certainly. The wizarding summit in Bhutan, as you know, was convened to foster cooperation among magical governments. But from the start, it was overshadowed by old tensions and the intense suspicion that Grindelwald was working behind the scenes. The situation grew violent with frightening speed. Grindelwald did indeed orchestrate chaos—he exploited every division among the attending ministries. I attempted to intervene, but in the melee, Credence was gravely harmed." He paused, the memory of Credence's pale face flickering in his mind. "I brought him here because this is where I trust he can be best protected and cared for."
One professor let out a soft exhalation, while another jotted notes with a squeaky quill. At an unfortunately timed moment, the quill squeaked so loudly that it drew chuckles from a few corners of the room. The group's tension momentarily punctured, Dumbledore exhaled a near-silent thanks for that small reprieve. The portrait of a former headmaster on the wall grumbled something about "dealing with troublemakers with stricter discipline in my day," only to be reprimanded by the Headmistress, who muttered, "Not now."
"And Grindelwald..." The silver-haired professor tapped the table. "He got away, did he not?"
Dumbledore's jaw tightened. "Yes," he said, forcing composure. "He orchestrated more than an escape. It had the air of a planned coup, in my view. He's rallied new followers, and certain officials seemed unprepared. Worse, some might even be sympathetic to his cause." That suspicion he had kept to himself, but the uneasy hush in the chamber confirmed nobody there found it far-fetched.
The Headmistress laced her fingers. "Then you're saying he's on the loose, more dangerous than before. That is deeply concerning on its own, but it also raises a question that's been whispered more and more: your past friendship with Grindelwald. Naturally, we are forced to wonder—"
"This is precisely my question," interjected a stern older witch with square-rimmed glasses. She fixed Dumbledore with a level gaze. "You were close to him in your youth, Albus. I don't wish to be unkind, but how can we be certain that there isn't still a lingering relationship?"
A ripple of discomfort passed around the table. Dumbledore could see that even those who didn't share the suspicion were now glancing in his direction, seeking his response. He felt a surge of old shame and grief: Ariana's memory, the heartbreak of misjudging Grindelwald's ambitions so many years ago.
He inhaled slowly, voice steady despite the painful recollection. "I understand why you would ask. My ties with Grindelwald were severed decades ago, when I realized the terrible path he had chosen. My aim now is to ensure he never again gains a foothold." He spoke quietly but resolutely, letting his sincerity stand naked before them. "There was a time I was blinded by admiration and misguided dreams. That time has passed. I have no illusions left about him."
Silence held for a moment. The Headmistress cleared her throat and leaned forward. "We are not here to resurrect ancient controversies, but Hogwarts must be safeguarded. Grindelwald would be a fool not to note the advantage of striking at this school in order to get to you. Let us move forward with that in mind." She swept a gaze across the table. "Professor Hicks, you are well-versed in advanced healing protocols. Would you share your thoughts on the immediate steps we can take?"
Eulalie Hicks nodded. "I plan to establish a specialized care unit, focusing on Obscurial afflictions. Credence's condition is precarious, and if he remains here, he'll need consistent monitoring." She hesitated, glancing at Dumbledore. "I believe that housing him in a safe ward within the castle is our best option for now. We've never officially harbored an Obscurial, but these times are extraordinary."
A quiet hum of agreement rose from some professors, though a few looked unsettled by the concept. One of the younger staff members wrung her hands together. "But what about the students?" she asked, voice quavering. "We can't tell them everything—panic would spread in an instant."
"We must still take visible precautions," said another veteran professor. "Enhanced wards around the perimeter, restricted visitors, increased patrols. Students will sense something is amiss, but we can phrase our announcements carefully. Better a few rumors than open vulnerability."
The swirling discussion grew louder as multiple voices chimed in: arguments for additional defensive spells, appeals for calm. Dumbledore stayed silent for a short while, listening intently, parsing every suggestion. Hogwarts could become a fortress overnight if they went too far, but doing nothing was unthinkable.
A man with a twirling mustache piped up, "We also have the Ministry to consider. They've demanded a thorough investigation into your activities, Dumbledore—pardon me, that's their phrase, not mine. They're threatening to remove Hogwarts from certain official registers if we don't comply fully." He snorted, a frustrated sound. "They believe we're harboring secrets. As if we'd put the entire school at risk... but times being what they are..."
Dumbledore folded his hands together. "I appreciate your candor," he said. "I've already received word that the Ministry wants an accounting of my actions. It won't be pleasant, but perhaps cooperation is the most strategic approach for the moment." Inwardly, he already dreaded the formal interrogation sure to come. He could imagine the line of questions: the broken blood pact with Grindelwald, the history he was reluctant to share. Still, maintaining Hogwarts's autonomy was too crucial.
A small surge of magical commotion erupted near the center of the table. An enchanted ledgerscript had begun to float up, scribbling notes unbidden. It darted left and right, capturing side comments. One of the older professors lunged for it, hissing, "Come back here, you nosy thing," generating a flicker of laughter despite the severity of the discussion. When the ledger was finally smacked back onto the table, the laughter faded, replaced once more by grim focus.
The Headmistress cleared her throat again. "Let us keep to the main objective. Hogwarts' security. Albus, from this point on, we need more direct coordination. No more abrupt disappearances," she said pointedly, her gaze locked on him. "If anything, we must all remain informed of new developments—particularly if Grindelwald is rallying additional supporters."
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. "I agree. I promise not to act alone. Henceforth, you shall have notice of my movements." Even as he said it, he felt the weight of half-truths pressing on him. Some secrets had to remain his. Credence's mention of a fortress in his feverish murmuring, for instance—was that a real place? A memory planted by Grindelwald? Dumbledore suspected it might be key to understanding Grindelwald's next move. Perhaps it was prudent to keep that clue quiet, at least until it was less nebulous.
Eulalie offered a mild smile. "And if there's research you need—arcane texts, healing strategies, or defensive spells—well, you know who to ask. We can't anticipate everything Grindelwald might do next, but we can prepare ourselves better by pooling knowledge."
"Precisely," murmured the Headmistress. "We'll convene for weekly Defense Council meetings to share intelligence. Agreed?" Her tone brooked no dissent. Around the table, heads nodded, though some did so more reluctantly than others.
A tension-laden hush followed. Dumbledore found himself glancing around at the faces of his colleagues. He saw fear, skepticism, resolve—and in a few, genuine empathy. That empathy meant the world to him. The echoes of time spent with Grindelwald as a youth still haunted him, and now he had to face the consequences of stepping forward to stop him once again. But Hogwarts was counting on him. So was Credence.
The Headmistress exhaled softly, surveying the room. "Unless there is another matter to address this morning, I believe we have our course. We have to remain vigilant and not give way to panic. Thank you all for your time."
For a moment, no one rose; everyone seemed reluctant to break the circle of tension that had formed. Then chairs began to scrape, and side conversations flared. Some staff left in pairs, muttering about ward enhancements or class schedules. A handful threw curious glances at Dumbledore as they went, uncertain how to feel about the man who had once been Grindelwald's friend. Dumbledore forced a small, courteous smile if they caught his eye, well aware that trust was a fragile thing.
He rounded the end of the table and paused by Eulalie Hicks. Her gentle brown eyes were fixed on him in sympathy. "How is Credence?" she asked quietly.
He shook his head. "Unconscious, but stable. No telling how long it will take for him to regain full strength. The destructive force inside him complicates everything, and I suspect the events in Bhutan worsened his condition."
She embraced her tome a little closer. "I'll be by the hospital wing shortly," she said. "We'll take good care of him, Albus."
"Thank you," he managed. "I appreciate it more than I can say."
He stepped away from the table, threading his way through the last clusters of colleagues who lingered near the exit. By the arched wooden doors, the Headmistress spoke in low tones with the silver-haired professor, both wearing pensive expressions. As Dumbledore approached, the Headmistress lifted her chin.
She regarded him gravely. "Keep in mind, Albus, the Ministry's patience is thin. Don't give them any reason to tear Hogwarts from us."
"Understood," he said. "I'll do whatever I can to protect the school."
With a purposeful nod, she stepped aside to let him pass. Dumbledore exited the faculty chamber, mind already racing over the next steps: wards, new strategies, and the question of how Grindelwald might exploit Credence's weaknesses. The corridor felt cooler than before. Professors passed him in both directions, accompanied by the occasional Prefect making rounds. Voices faded or rose as the castle's morning bustle escalated.
Near the staircase, an owl whooshed by, nearly colliding with Dumbledore's shoulder. It circled back and alighted on a stone banister, bearing a rolled parchment in its talons. He lifted it free, offering the owl a gentle pat before it soared off again. His name was scrawled across the parchment in a forceful hand. He unrolled it: a short message from the Ministry, a stern summons to answer formal inquiries about Bhutan. The text bristled with officious urgency. No doubt they intended to press him on every detail—his presence might be demanded far sooner than he had expected.
He pressed his lips into a thoughtful line, feeling the impulse to crush the parchment in frustration. Instead, he folded it carefully and tucked it away in his robes. Knowing the climate at the Ministry, it would be a fight just to keep them from interfering at Hogwarts. The power of that institution loomed, but letting red tape stall any defensive measures against Grindelwald would be disastrous.
He walked in measured steps back toward the more public halls, pausing at a window where bright morning sunlight streamed in. Something in his chest constricted as he imagined Credence's fragile state, and the few clear words the boy had managed earlier: "a fortress." Perhaps it was only a delirious muttering. Yet dread curled inside Dumbledore because it matched whispers he had picked up long ago about Grindelwald's hidden strongholds. Credence's mention could very well be the final piece to a puzzle that pointed to Grindelwald's next base of operations.
But if he revealed it to the staff in that meeting, half of them might panic, and the other half would question him further about how he knew. The time for candor might come, but for now, he must investigate privately, gather enough evidence to present a credible case. Let them call it caution or secrecy—he knew the line was thin. But Hogwarts, and the entire wizarding world, could ill afford a mistake.
He left the window and made his way down a narrow stone stairwell. Students dashed by, pushing him to the side in their hurry for breakfast. Normally he would offer a few lighthearted words, greet them with a smile. Instead, he found himself subdued. The meeting's tension still clung to him. That sober hush wasn't going away anytime soon. He was going to have to navigate the distrust, the Ministry's scrutiny, and Grindelwald's looming shadow all at once.
He came to a hallway where the stone walls were lined with portraits of famed alchemists. Some of them stirred in their frames to acknowledge him. A tall wizard wearing an embroidered hat peered down and gave a sniff, as if disappointed in the day's news. Dumbledore returned a half-bow out of courtesy, then pushed on. Lights flickered overhead—signs that morning classes would soon begin. A few students veered around him, clutching textbooks, clearly brimming with questions about the rumors swirling through the castle. Not one dared to ask him outright, though.
When he finally approached a side corridor that led toward the hospital wing, he slowed. Part of him wanted to see Credence with his own eyes, to check that the young man was still breathing evenly, that his gaunt face hadn't paled further. But another part knew he might not have the time for more than a cursory glance. The summons from the Ministry weighed on his mind heavily, and Hogwarts needed him to finalize security measures.
Still, stepping inside to confirm Credence's condition felt imperative. The boy's stifled cry—"fortress... it's hidden..."—rang in Dumbledore's memory. The idea that Credence's fragile spirit might be battling nightmares made Dumbledore's stomach twist. He wondered how best to shield him from any infiltration attempts. If Grindelwald discovered that Credence was alive and at Hogwarts, he might try to lure the boy away.
Yes, the entire staff might band together to ward the school, but would that be enough if Grindelwald chose to strike directly? It was a question that had no reassuring answer. Eulalie Hicks had the right idea: create a specialized unit for Obscurials. But that alone might not quell a threat of Grindelwald's magnitude. Dumbledore needed allies both seen and unseen in this fight.
He ran a hand over the banister as he turned back toward the main staircase, the faint swirl of dust catching a slant of sunlight. A quiet determination settled over him. The Headmistress had demanded no more clandestine heroics, but she would soon realize that the fight against Grindelwald was a complicated tapestry of secrets, alliances, and dangerous intelligence. Being fully transparent was admirable—and in many ways, impossible. He only hoped Hogwarts would forgive him if he navigated that fine line with discretion.
Already, he could almost feel the Ministry's watchful eyes on him. They might well attempt to hamper his movements or twist the story to place blame on him for Grindelwald's rise. Yet he refused to be pinned down by bureaucracy at a time like this. Protecting Hogwarts had to come first, no matter what last-minute demands the Ministry made.
He felt for the bulge of the folded parchment in his pocket, that stern summons calling him to account. He would go, of course. He had no intention of running. Still, it was yet another cracking fault line in the delicate balance he hoped to maintain. On top of all that, he had the chilling puzzle of a rumored fortress. If Grindelwald was indeed consolidating forces in some hidden stronghold, time was short.
The best he could do, for now, was keep to his promise: be more forthright with the Headmistress, share intelligence with Eulalie Hicks, and ensure Hogwarts took every protective measure. Beyond that, he must investigate the fortress. He gathered a final breath, adjusting his robes. A swirl of tension and resolve accompanied every step he took toward his next destination, which happened to be the Headmistress's office to finalize details on the school's new wards. By the time he reached that corridor, he had already steeled himself for whatever trials lay on the horizon—both in the fortress's murky shadows and amid the Ministry's official halls.
He turned one last time to look out a window framing the sunrise sky. It was bright, warm, and oddly reassuring, as if reminding him that while darkness might loom, the light still rose each morning. He then silently pressed on, the faint echo of Credence's last words lingering in his mind, guiding him as surely as any star.