Dumbledore and The Great Wizarding War

Albus Dumbledore stood in the gentle hush of the hospital wing, letting the early morning light cast fine lines across his features. Dust motes drifted in slow circles, caught in the beams slicing through the tall, arched windows. The space smelled faintly medicinal—an astringent scent reminiscent of freshly brewed healing potions. Even the air felt taut with unspoken concern, as though the sheets folded at the foot of each bed anticipated another patient at any moment.

He glanced down at Credence, who lay curled under neatly pressed bedding, face shining with sweat. The boy's breathing hitched, his feverish dreams evident in each labored exhalation. Words hung on his lips—disconnected images about dark shapes flickering at the edges of a distant fortress. Albus found an unsettling echo in those half-formed descriptions, for they reminded him of the swirling wards far below in the castle's hidden depths.

Across from him, Aberforth Dumbledore lingered in a wooden chair. He looked as though he had barely moved the entire night, unspeaking, watchful. Shoulders stiff, he exuded a fierce protectiveness that bristled whenever Albus lifted his wand to perform a careful healing spell. Each time Albus tried to assist or discreetly cast a diagnostic charm, Aberforth would glare with an intensity that made any extravagance feel unwelcome. His message was clear: no complicated magic until Credence was stable.

Madame Pomfrey, bustling about with potions and vials, checked the boy's vitals. She muttered gentle incantations that lit up in faint green auras around Credence's chest and forehead. Dumbledore peered curiously at the magical readouts—only to be interrupted by Aberforth huffing in irritation.

"Let her do her work," he muttered under his breath, loud enough for Albus to hear. 

Albus raised both hands in a small, placating gesture. "Of course," he murmured, stepping back. But his thoughts whirled behind calm eyes. Credence's fevered ramblings held kernels of knowledge concerning deeper wards—possibly connected to the looming threat of Grindelwald. He only wished Aberforth understood that diagnosing Credence might yield valuable insights. Credence twitched, brow furrowed as though haunted, and he whispered again about "the fortress."

"That's it," Aberforth said, standing with abrupt force. His back cracked as he stretched. Turning to Albus, he jerked his chin toward the door. "We need a word."

Dumbledore nodded, well aware that Aberforth's tension had been building steadily since last night. Quietly excusing themselves from the hospital wing, the brothers stepped into the corridor beyond.

The hallway felt cooler than the ward, with its tall stone walls and drafty passages that whispered of Hogwarts stirring awake. Portraits dozed in their frames, occasionally opening an eye to observe the pair. Faint echoes of the distant Great Hall reminded them that breakfast had begun, and students were starting their day with cheerful chatter.

Aberforth turned to Albus, frustration evident in the deep lines around his eyes. "You're chasing bigger spells again, Albus," he said in a low voice. "Don't tell me I'm wrong. I've heard the talk—staff seeing you prowling the dungeons, searching for who-knows-what. We both know how that turned out before."

Dumbledore chose his words carefully. "The threat Grindelwald poses…" He paused, resisting the urge to mention the Elder Wand by name. "It requires measures beyond common defenses. We can't ignore the possibility that deeper wards or relics in Hogwarts could shield us—or help Credence."

Aberforth shook his head, pacing a few steps. "You can't repeat that spiral. I see the look in your eyes, the same stubborn ambition you had back when we were young." His voice thickened with old hurt. "And Ariana paid the price."

A flicker of regret crossed Albus's face. He pressed his lips together, remembering too vividly the chaos that once shattered their family. "I have learned caution," he replied. "But extraordinary magic might be the only thing strong enough to protect Credence and Hogwarts from Grindelwald. I can't stand idle."

High above them, a caretaker's cat—doubtless roused by the raised voices—loosed a plaintive meow. For a moment, Aberforth and Albus both paused, fleetingly amused by the interruption. Aberforth rubbed his brow, exhaling a soft breath. "Just promise me," he began, voice gritty, "promise me you won't veer into dark places."

Albus slowly inclined his head. "I promise to be wary of darkness, but I have to walk a line if I want even a chance of thwarting Grindelwald. You know that."

The tension between them hovered. Finally, Aberforth relented with a curt nod. "For Credence's sake," he said, turning to peer back into the hospital wing, "I'll trust what you're doing—barely. But if I see you crossing any lines, I'll drag you back myself."

Dumbledore's voice turned gentler. "We must help him first. I suspect his visions are far more than random nightmares."

They stepped quietly back inside to find Credence stirring. His eyes fluttered open, and a wheezing breath warned Madame Pomfrey to apply another mild anti-inflammatory spell. A faint flush of color touched his cheeks, though he was still a trembling figure on the bed.

Aberforth lingered near the foot of Credence's cot. Albus, standing closer, noticed the subtle shift in Credence's expression. The young man's gaze focused momentarily, and he parted his lips, searching for words.

"Tower… with runes," he managed to say, though his voice was thin. "Black steps… leading… below…" His eyelids drooped, and he swallowed convulsively. "He's there."

It was enough to ignite the spark of suspicion in Dumbledore's mind. The cryptic images aligned with a peculiar reference he had found while exploring the castle's underbelly. There was indeed a sealed door rumored to bear intricate runic wards. Could Credence be echoing that same phenomenon, linking it to Grindelwald's fortress? Or was Grindelwald's fortress resonating with runes of its own?

Aberforth folded his arms over his chest, steeling himself as though bracing for an unpleasant truth. Albus knelt, reaching for a scrap of parchment. He nearly scribbled notes on the back of a medical chart until Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat disapprovingly. Catching her reproachful glance, he fished out his own spare parchment from a pocket instead.

Credence moaned softly, drifting back into shallow sleep. Madame Pomfrey, with a final swirl of her wand, let the faint green aura fade. "He's improving," she assured them, "but the recovery is fragile. Keep the stress to a minimum."

Outside the ward, Dumbledore's mind was too full to linger, so he made his way toward a staff corridor. The labyrinthine hall teemed with subdued conversation—fellow professors with anxious expressions, whispered remarks about concurrent demands from the Ministry. Whenever he drew near, the low hum of voices broke off into embarrassed silence. He gave them a cordial nod, but the tension was palpable. He had suspected mistrust brewing among his colleagues ever since the bizarre findings in the dungeons. Now it was almost tangible.

"Morning, Albus," said one of the younger professors, brightening in a too-quick attempt to appear casual. The hush made it obvious they had been speaking about something else before he arrived.

"Good morning," Dumbledore replied, offering a courteous dip of his head. His gaze flickered to the letters gripped by one professor—Ministry seals on every envelope. The staff parted to let him pass, though a murmur caught his ear.

"They say runes," the muffled voice drifted, "and humming in the dungeon…"

Dumbledore paused only a fraction of a second, acknowledging in his mind how far gossip had spread. He turned away, pointedly ignoring the mix of curiosity and guarded suspicion. If the staff looked at him askance, it simply solidified his resolve to press onward, discreetly if necessary. Grindelwald's influence was encroaching from outside. Soon, Hogwarts might be forced into the fray regardless of any official stance.

He proceeded to the Headmistress's office. The immediate warmth of morning sun greeted him through a tall, stained-glass window depicting a phoenix in flight. Shelves heavy with thick, arcane tomes lined the walls, but they were overshadowed by the neat piles of official correspondence on the Headmistress's desk. She sat behind them, hands folded, her posture betraying weariness.

"Albus," she said in greeting, beckoning him to come closer. "I'll make this brief. I'm receiving more letters from not only the British Ministry but several others abroad. They're concerned by your… extracurricular investigations. Apparently, rumors of your dungeon excursions and hush-hush studies have reached them." Her frown deepened. "They worry about Hogwarts' reputation. And frankly, families are getting anxious."

Dumbledore stood with his hands clasped before him. "I understand. But the danger is real. Grindelwald's presence looms, and I believe he may be searching for something—some hidden magic. If so, we must be prepared."

The Headmistress tapped her finger on a stack of parchment—a small, magical quill promptly rose, trying to record every word. Annoyed, she batted it away. "You see? Even stationery is eager to pry into our affairs," she remarked with a harsh chuckle. "Albus, the school cannot become a battlefield. If the Ministry sees us as a risk, they could withdraw support—financial, political, everything."

Dumbledore dipped his head. "I value your counsel. I'm fully committed to keeping Hogwarts safe, even if it means stepping into deeper waters than usual. We can't stay idle while Grindelwald and his loyalists plot."

Her gaze sharpened. "I'm telling you to tread carefully. Keep me informed. No more secrets."

He bowed slightly, acknowledging the warning. "I'll proceed with discretion."

Softening her voice, the Headmistress flipped through another letter. "I know you mean well, Albus. But consider the children here—your first priority is ensuring their protection."

Dumbledore filled his tone with respectful conviction. "I haven't forgotten."

He left the office, stepping briskly into the corridor. The hush was broken only by the shuffle of robed figures hurrying to classes. Albus saw Aberforth leaning against a distant pillar in a lesser-used courtyard. Autumn light slanted through the archways, and a cold breeze scattered leaves across the stone floor.

Aberforth wasted no time as soon as Albus approached. "I heard you've been busy," he said, voice tense. "You told the Headmistress about reinforcing wards, but left me in the dark?"

A swirl of wind tugged at Albus's robes, and he blinked away a stray leaf. "We barely had time to discuss anything," he replied. "Credence's condition took precedence."

Aberforth took a step forward. "You never could resist stepping on toes in your quest for the greater good. Don't think I don't hear staff whispers, saying you're up to something with that sealed door."

Dumbledore's stomach knotted briefly. Gossip traveled fast. "I've found a door, yes. Defended by runes. Possibly tied to a Founder's relic or something equally potent. If I could unlock it, perhaps—"

"Unlock it, and what?" Aberforth cut in, voice rough. "Summon something you can't control? I know you think you're the brightest wizard around, but certain magic is better left buried."

Albus pressed his lips together, remembering the pitfalls of the past. "I'm not repeating old mistakes," he said quietly. "Credence may be seeing something that ties this fortress to Grindelwald. If we discover the link, we can protect him… protect everyone."

Aberforth sneered, arms still crossed. "You say you want to protect him. But you and I both know you're drawn to powerful knowledge. Best not to drag him—or Hogwarts—into experiments that end in tragedy."

A gust of wind nearly toppled a cluster of leaves directly onto Aberforth's shoulders, causing him to jerk sideways with an annoyed grunt. Albus stifled a small smile. Their interplay, riddled with tension, was also peppered with memories of simpler, more comedic times.

Stepping a fraction closer, Albus spoke in a lower tone. "I've only begun to inspect the wards. That door in the dungeon—whatever it conceals—could be relevant to Grindelwald's next move. I won't attempt any unlocking spells until I'm sure. The last thing we need is uncontrolled magic."

Aberforth stared for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. "Keep me in the loop, at least," he said. "Don't gamble with your life and drag us all down along with you."

Albus nodded solemnly. "I promise." 

They parted, Aberforth trudging off to find a quiet place for a moment's rest, while Albus made a final pass toward the hospital wing. He found the ward calmer now, late morning sun trailing across the polished floor. A single moan from behind a privacy curtain marked another student convalescing from a Quidditch accident.

Credence exhaled softly, his eyes flickering open as Dumbledore approached. The boy's expression still carried the shadow of his affliction, but a sliver of clarity had returned. Albus pulled up a chair, leaning in without crowding him.

"Listen," Credence rasped. His voice faltered, and Dumbledore had to tilt his head to catch the words. "He… He doesn't know… what they can unleash…"

A chill coursed down Albus's spine. "Grindelwald?" he asked gently, refusing to let the wave of alarm drown his calm tone. "What is he trying to unleash, Credence?"

But the boy's eyes fluttered with fatigue, and his muscles shook with the effort. "Don't… let him—" he breathed. Then his weight collapsed back into the pillow, and the tension slid away from his face as he drifted back into a fitful doze.

Albus inhaled slowly, turning these cryptic phrases over in his mind. Credence suggested something hidden, a magical possibility that Grindelwald—all his cunning aside—might not fully understand. Perhaps this sealed door or the rumored relic was of even deeper significance than Albus initially suspected. Before he could reflect further, the caretaker approached with a startled squeak, having seen Credence's sudden movements. Dumbledore raised his hands reassuringly. "He's resting comfortably," he said. "No need for alarm."

Madame Pomfrey glided by, murmuring that the Obscurial bursts seemed less volatile but still dangerous if provoked. Most wizards would consider advanced or borderline forbidden spells to contain such magic. The reminder loomed in Albus's thoughts as he carefully patted Credence's shoulder, whispering, "Stay strong. I'll find a way."

In the corridor leading away from the hospital wing, Dumbledore wove through a current of bustling students, each heading to midday classes. Concern nibbling at his composure, he nearly collided with a prefect carrying a precariously tall stack of books. Apologies were exchanged hastily, the books wobbling dangerously.

He paused near a tall stained-glass window that cast dancing shards of color on the floor. Standing there, he recounted the mounting puzzle: the fortress in Credence's visions, the possible connection to a ward-laden relic, the staff's mistrust, the Ministry's looming disapproval, and Aberforth's searing caution. All of it pressed inward like tightening vines.

Glancing out through the rainbow-tinted glass, he saw the silhouette of the castle ramparts. The day was wearing on; he knew the next steps demanded action. Hidden wards, carefully studied, might yield a clue. Or he might have to leave Hogwarts altogether in search of Grindelwald's lair. Every scenario seemed precarious. Still, no matter the route, time would not slow.

As afternoon crept toward evening, he found himself drawn to the upper parapets. The sky glowed a dusky orange, the sun sliding down to the horizon. He stood at the edge, hands resting gently on the cold stone battlements, breathing in the autumn air. It was crisp, tinged with decaying leaves and the faint aroma of the forest beyond the lake. Beneath that tranquil façade, his mind churned with strategy.

Footsteps sounded on the staircase. Aberforth emerged onto the rampart, arms folded against the chill. His gaze met Albus's in fleeting acknowledgement before he joined him in silent scrutiny of the horizon. They stood side by side, the wind tugging at their robes, neither speaking for several breaths.

Eventually, Aberforth's voice broke the stillness. "Standing around like this… reminds me of Ariana," he said softly. "She used to sit on the porch, staring at the sky. We never understood how dangerous it all was until it was too late." His tone carried a tired sadness.

Albus listened, swallowing past the knot forming in his throat. "I think of her, too," he admitted. "Sometimes, I wonder if protecting Credence could be a way to make amends for… for everything."

Aberforth's gaze hardened slightly, though the anger in it was dulled by shared empathy. "Don't mistake a second chance to save someone else for permission to dance with danger again. We both know the cost."

A hush settled between them. Albus let the moment breathe, hoping that the sense of kinship might hold them together despite their friction. "I'm aware of my tendency to push boundaries," he said, voice subdued. "I do it because I believe we have precious little time. If Grindelwald is truly forging a fortress, or using wards to mask his next move, every day we delay… we risk more lives."

Aberforth stared at him, then set a firm hand on his shoulder. It was a gesture as close to brotherly support as Albus had felt in years. "You say that better than most. Just don't let power cloud your sight. Don't let it end how it ended for Ariana."

The corners of Albus's mouth curved in a small, wistful smile. He attempted a faint levity. "Is that your way of offering me encouragement?"

Aberforth's lips twitched in a guarded smirk. "It's more than you deserve."

They stood there, letting the wind buffet them, the sky painted in the purple and fiery orange of descending dusk. Below, the Hogwarts grounds stretched wide, dotted with golden lights from windows. Albus's eyes flicked over the rolling hills, seeing them only as an inky outline in the growing twilight.

"Credence's visions…" Albus murmured. "He's revealing more each time he stirs. He mentioned runes, black steps, a tower. It could be here, within Hogwarts, or it could be Grindelwald's stronghold somewhere else. One of the old fortresses in Europe, maybe. Either way, we need to know."

Aberforth nodded slowly, arms still crossed. "Then we'd better find out quick, or we're all going to pay." Turning slightly, he gave Albus a sidelong look. "You're the one who believes you can stand against Grindelwald best. Fine. Just remember you're not invincible."

Albus's response was quiet, weighed with the gravity of years of guilt and ambition. "I'll do my utmost. For Credence's sake—and for all of ours."

The last rays of sunlight slipped behind the distant mountains as the sky darkened to a deep blue. A distant silhouette of the Forbidden Forest stood stark against the fading glow, and an eerie hush fell across the grounds. The two brothers leaned on the rampart, sharing a silence heavy with old wounds and unspoken hopes.

Albus's attention lingered on the horizon, where an unseen storm seemed to hover just beyond sight. Grindelwald's rise was no small matter, and if Credence's cryptic warnings pointed to a relic or ward that could shift the conflict's balance, then it was worth the risk. He felt Aberforth's hand still resting lightly on his shoulder, a reminder that he wasn't alone, even though their trust was precarious.

All around them, the night air curled in, hinting at a sharper chill soon to come. The faint sounds from within the castle—students drifting back from dinner, staff gathering for evening duties—were muted by the thick stone walls. In that moment, Hogwarts felt both comforting and vulnerable, an ancient fortress about to be tested.

Dumbledore took a final, measured breath. "Grindelwald is moving faster than we can prepare," he said at last. "And Credence's visions may be our strongest clue."

Aberforth just gazed outward. "Then, brother, let's hope it's enough." 

They remained together by the battlements, the wind carrying the promise of a storm. And in that fragile unity, they stood prepared, however uncertain the path—including the sealed door below, the runes, and the daring pursuit of knowledge that danced on the edge of darkness.