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The eerie blue flames of Fiendfyre bathed the corridor in an otherworldly glow, their flickering tendrils casting restless shadows against the stone walls. For a moment, time itself seemed to hold its breath.
Aside from the sinister crackle of the cursed fire and the measured breathing of the young wizard standing amidst the devastation, all was silent.
Snape’s wand hand trembled, though whether from exertion or something deeper, even he wasn’t certain.
As he had rushed here, his mind had conjured all manner of grim possibilities, bracing himself for the worst— and he even thought that he might be retrieving Ian’s lifeless body.
And yet, though bodies indeed littered the scene, they were reduced to nothing more than drifting embers in the air. The young wizard, who should have paid dearly for his recklessness, stood untouched— his robes unmarked, his expression disturbingly composed.
“Who taught you Fiendfyre?” Snape demanded at last, his voice low and tight. His wand lowered an inch, but his suspicion remained razor-sharp. The power radiating from Ian did not belong to a mere student.
It was a power that, disturbingly, eclipsed even the Dark Lord’s, once upon a time.
“Headmaster Dumbledore once praised my skill with Fiendfyre.” Ian did not betray his friend, instead offering a vague yet plausible justification for his ‘permissible’ use of such a perilous magic.
“Do you expect a commendation from him?” Snape sneered, his gaze flickering to the single object that had survived the inferno unscathed: a blood-red ruby lying upon the scorched flagstones.
Such control over Fiendfyre sent a chill down his spine.
“I wouldn’t be against getting a Special Services Award.” Ian smirked while throwing a glance at Barnabas’s portrait. “The fellow you had me keeping an eye on nearly burned down the entire school. If I hadn’t intervened, he might have managed it.”
The Barnabas, still slightly singed and recovering from the earlier assault, gave Ian a thumbs-up. “I can vouch for him.”
He coughed, then muttered, “When Dumbledore finally kicks the cauldron, you ought to take over as headmaster, dear boy. I’ve never had much faith in this House-divided nonsense. You might just bring back the old ways— like the wandering scholars of yore.”
Typical of a portrait with over a thousand years of history, his perspective was unorthodox at best. Then again, nostalgia had always been a hallmark of the enchanted paintings of Hogwarts.
“Silence, you fool who was bested by a troll,” Snape snapped, his glare sharp enough to cut glass as he stepped forward and plucked the ruby from the floor.
Ian instinctively released the Fiendfyre encircling the gemstone, its blazing barrier the only thing keeping the advancing Ashwinders at bay. Freed from its dark enchantment, the ruby shattered against the stone as Snape crushed it in his fist.
A thin wisp of red mist curled into the air before dissipating.
Immediately, the Ashwinders— once rabid in their assault— scattered, their instincts restored as they slithered away in search of nesting grounds.
“What magic was woven into this?” Snape murmured, his keen mind already dissecting the artifact’s nature.
Ian dismissed the last vestiges of Fiendfyre. “Was he after that cursed trinket?”
Snape’s gaze drifted to the blank stretch of wall where the door to the Room of Requirement had vanished. His expression darkened. “No. He was looking for something else. When he didn’t find it, he decided to burn the castle down.”
Ian deliberately withheld any mention of the lost Diadem.
There was little choice in the matter. The artifact had already been returned to its rightful owner, and there was no simple way to explain its sudden disappearance. He certainly couldn’t claim he’d sold it off in Knockturn Alley, could he?
Damn it.
‘This was all Voldemort’s fault.’
‘Why did he always have to interfere with people’s studies?’
“Perhaps whatever he sought is still nearby?” Ian ventured, casting a fleeting glance at Barnabas’s portrait. The Barnabas, bound by the enchantments placed upon him, remained silent— he could not openly speak of the Diadem.
“What was he searching for?” Snape pressed.
Ian shook his head. “He never said. Just kept muttering that Dumbledore wouldn’t let him go… that the Dark Lord would kill him. It seemed like he was answering to someone.”
He spoke a half-truth. A strategic omission.
“The Carrow family have long been followers of that name.” Snape’s eyes darkened, as though recalling something unpleasant. “Perhaps he hoped to reclaim some artifact to restore his family’s power.”
His voice was carefully measured. Was he explaining for Ian’s sake? Or trying to steer him away from deeper questions?
“Remember, that man is dead,” Snape said sharply. “He perished the night he fell at the hands of the Potters. That is the truth recognized by the wizarding world. Anything else you’ve heard—” his lip curled slightly, “—are the delusions of a desperate fool. Ah, Foleyson Carrow.”
“He was influenced by a cursed relic.” Snape’s voice was firm, though a flicker of something— perhaps pain —crossed his features.
Ian arched a brow. “And if the professors ask where this artifact is now?”
Of course, Ian knew the truth— Voldemort was not dead, merely lurking in the shadows. He also knew that Snape had lost his ‘white moonlight’ on that very night.
He chose not to expose the lie. Some wounds were best left unopened.
“That is not your concern.” Snape’s reply was swift and absolute. “The professors won’t ask questions they don’t know to ask.”
He turned, his robes billowing as he leveled his wand at the Barnabas’s portrait.
“I’ll ensure this wretched painting remains silent.”
The Barnabas gasped in indignation. “Now see here—”
But Snape was already muttering an incantation, sealing the portrait’s lips despite his furious protests.
The Barnabas lay sprawled on the floor, looking utterly defeated.
After so many years, she hadn’t expected to be cursed again. She was just a portrait! What had she done to deserve this? It wasn’t as if she had chosen to be stationed at the entrance of this troublesome place.
“So, it’s all settled now?” Ian exhaled, relieved, while also committing Snape’s spell to memory for later study.
“Why weren’t you this naive when you were using Fiendfyre to kill someone?” Snape sneered, his gaze dark and piercing.
“I told you to keep an eye on him, not to kill him! No— you shouldn’t have followed him at all!” A rare flicker of something close to fear lingered in Snape’s voice.
Ian sighed. “You said you were pretending to be injured on Dumbledore’s orders, and the other professors were preoccupied. He was clearly sneaking off to do something suspicious.”
“I did as you instructed— I kept watch. But when he tried to burn down the entire school, I couldn’t just stand by.”
Ian gestured toward the enchanted suit of armor, which stood eerily still. “Can you believe it? The moment he saw me, he hurled two Unforgivable Curses! Not a word exchanged— just straight to dark magic. A seventh-year acting like that? What would he do after leaving Hogwarts?”
His voice was filled with incredulity and exasperation.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Carrow is nothing like you. Tsk. Fiendfyre— learning such magic in your first year. What are you trying to do? Make the wizarding world bow before you?”
Snape’s gaze bore into Ian, sharp as a curse.
“This is the romance of the Middle Ages. I remember two friends of mine dueling for sport… both ended up dead.”
Barnabas’s voice chimed in from his portrait. Before he could continue, Snape flicked his wand, sealing the frame with a thick layer of silence.
That poor ballet instructor.
“I was using Fiendfyre to protect everyone! Magic isn’t evil— only wizards are! Surely you understand that, Professor.” Ian’s eyes widened with conviction.
“You killed someone! And you used dark magic to do it!” Snape’s voice rose, frustration bubbling over.
“Do you think Dumbledore is some indulgent headmaster who’ll hand you a Special Services Award? No matter how justified you think you were, Dumbledore will not tolerate this!”
His expression was a rare mix of anger and… concern.
“You have no idea how sensitive Dumbledore is to dark magic. If you want to stay at Hogwarts— if you want to avoid Azkaban— you may very well need me to plead on your behalf.”
It was clear now. Snape’s fury wasn’t just about the act of killing— it was the use of Fiendfyre. Ian had crossed a line Dumbledore would never ignore.
“Didn’t you already handle it?” Ian nodded toward the silenced portrait.
“That will fool the other professors, but not Dumbledore. He always knows what he shouldn’t.” Snape’s voice dropped. “That’s the man who runs this school.”
“The most powerful wizard of the 20th century! If you knew anything about his past, you’d understand that Dumbledore’s strength and reputation are more than just stories.”
“Prince isn’t the Boy-Who-Lived— he’s the victor.”
Under normal circumstances, Snape would never utter such words. But recent events had unsettled him. He could no longer predict Dumbledore’s thoughts, and so, for once, he chose to speak plainly to his reckless yet undeniably gifted pupil.
“Hmm.”
Ian recognized Snape’s seriousness but felt no regret. What was he supposed to do? Stand by while Carrow burned down the school?
Dumbledore had not intervened while the professors were battling the Ashwinders. He likely wasn’t even in the castle. This was the most vulnerable Hogwarts had been in years.
Perhaps there were protections in place. Perhaps it wasn’t as dire as it seemed. But that wasn’t a gamble Ian was willing to take. If he had bet wrong, Hogwarts would have lost more than a few walls.
Ian had made a silent promise to the castle when he had taken its gold and its forgotten Diadem from the Room of Requirement.
If not for that, he wouldn’t have followed Carrow up the stairs simply because Snape told him to.
Of course, Ian had already considered the consequences of using Fiendfyre.
“I might need to ask a friend to write a letter on my behalf.”
If Snape’s warnings weren’t exaggerated— if Dumbledore truly knew everything— then keeping secrets were no longer an option.
This was something Ian had never predicted. Before helping a friend inquire about things, how could he have anticipated it would lead to the school headmaster?
Ariana seemed so delicate… how could she have such a fierce elder brother! When he received news from Penelope, Ian had been unsettled for quite a while. Penelope had clearly revealed her connection with Dumbledore, and that line about Dumbledore hoping he would tell her was undoubtedly an interesting remark.
Even if Penelope didn’t know what secrets lay within, she had subtly conveyed Dumbledore’s emotions to Ian.
“If you’re counting on little Grindelwald to plead for you, you’d better dismiss that ridiculous thought. Little Grindelwald is probably struggling to save herself right now.”
Snape recalled Dumbledore’s previous gaze.
He still felt a chill down his spine.
“What happened to Aurora? I haven’t seen her today.” Ian frowned and asked.
“What could happen to her? It depends on what she did.” Snape clearly didn’t want to elaborate, maintaining a stern expression as he looked at Ian with disappointment.
“She’s being temporarily protected by some people. You should worry more about yourself!”
The cold-hearted Potions Master muttered under his breath.
“I actually have more than one friend besides Aurora.”
Ian felt Snape misunderstood him.
Was he really that kind of solitary person?
“Besides relying on me, if you can get Godric Gryffindor to crawl out of the grave to speak for you, it might be somewhat useful. Now, come with me back to the Great Hall and pretend nothing happened.”
“I’ll go find Dumbledore. This matter must not be discussed after he finds out. Before I give you a response, you’d better behave and not cause any more trouble.”
Snape gripped his wand and quickly walked ahead. The Ashwinders were no longer acting strangely, but they were still not completely harmless.
After all, all magical creatures have a sense of territory. If one approached the Ashwinders’ nesting area, the Ashwinders that had laid eggs would still be highly aggressive.
“Is Godric Gryffindor buried near Hogwarts?” Ian followed closely behind Snape. He didn’t know Godric Gryffindor, but he had a piece of clothing that Ravenclaw had touched.
He wondered if it could fetch a high price. Ah, he regretted not seizing the opportunity earlier. If only he could get Rowena Ravenclaw to sign it! He could then add some words before the signature and present it in Ravenclaw’s common room…
“I told you to behave! Do you not understand human language?” Snape slapped the back of Ian’s neck, his thoughts drifting to the events in Hogsmeade village.
‘The Inferius Curse.’
Now there was Fiendfyre… compared to this troublesome magic, learning the Inferius Curse seemed almost innocent; at least controlling the dead was merely a moral issue.
Fiendfyre was different.
Snape hoped Dumbledore would consider his years of loyalty and not react with any “old friend” triggers… The Prince family hadn’t produced any good people in generations, but they also hadn’t produced any dark magic geniuses. How had Ian emerged as such a little troublemaker?
Perplexed, Snape urged Ian to return to the Great Hall.
Thanks to Snape destroying the mysterious ruby, the crisis in the Great Hall was averted, but the professors still needed to lead the older students to assist Professor McGonagall in clearing the source of the problem.
It took more than one fierce magical flame to give rise to such a large number of Ashwinders; any corner of Hogwarts could be a breeding ground for them.
“Follow them back and go to sleep.”
Snape led Ian through a side door into the Great Hall, where the not-so-powerful Madam Pomfrey was organizing students to return to their respective houses alongside Madam Hooch and other staff members. The first area to be cleared was the common room, as the young wizards needed a night that might not be very restful.
Of course, compared to the anxious and tense young wizards from the other three houses, the students from Gryffindor were mostly excited.
“I have to write to my dad! Tonight was so thrilling; he’ll definitely be envious of my experience.”
“Did you see? I just saved Professor Flitwick! The snake was still over ten meters away from him, but I bet Professor Flitwick didn’t even see it.”
“Dumbledore should give us three days off so I can take some friends to the Forbidden Forest for another adventure… uh, I mean, so we can calm our terrified hearts.”
Although Ian found Gryffindor’s chatter annoying, he couldn’t deny their fighting spirit; they provided the most help to the professors.
“Aren’t you going to comfort the Slytherin kids?” Ian watched Snape turn to leave and glanced at the one or two first-year Slytherin wizards crying in a corner.
“This is a lesson for those snot-nosed brats. Those flowers of the greenhouse can’t uphold the glory of their house.” Snape flicked his cloak and disappeared around the corner.
“Doesn’t Slytherin have mixed-blood wizards too?” Ian noticed Ravenclaw’s Prefect starting to organize people to return to the common room and immediately joined the throng.
Tonight’s encounter might have been a crisis, but after the storm passed, everyone was reflecting. Some older wizards were discussing their shortcomings in performance as they walked.
Meanwhile, the young wizards were more concerned about the belongings they had left in their dormitories.
“I’m definitely smarter.”
Ian shook his bulging robes; all his valuables were on him, and the borrowed books were wrapped in oil paper and stuffed into the water tank in the washroom.
Upon returning to the dormitory, it turned out Ian’s decision was correct. Although there were signs of Ashwinders in the washroom, the books hidden in the tank were still intact.
Michael and William, however, weren’t quite so lucky.
“Bloody hell! The Ashwinders burned my underwear!” William yelped, his face pale as if he might faint at any moment.
“That was my new pair! It even had a moving picture of Dumbledore on it!” His lament was so heartfelt that Ian turned to stare at him in disbelief.
He made a mental note to keep an eye on this roommate— who in their right mind would buy undergarments with a famous wizard’s likeness? Wouldn’t it feel odd wearing them?
“It’s all gone! All the food I stashed away— vanished! Those ruddy Ashwinders!” Michael groaned, equally distraught. “When I grow up, I’m going to invent a potion that wipes out snakes for good!”
The loss seemed to hit Michael hard, but Ian privately thought it might not be such a bad thing.
“Last night’s food was already spoiled,” He offered in what he thought was a kind attempt at consolation.
Michael, however, only looked more dismayed. “It was just a little off! It’s not like it was inedible! At worst, you’d get the runs— but that’s nothing a quick trip to Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t fix! Her potions taste like pumpkin juice anyway!”
Ian blinked. ‘What an… interesting perspective.’
He was beginning to suspect his roommate wasn’t quite right in the head.
“Well, next time, grab me a couple of bottles,” he muttered, realizing that perhaps he wasn’t much better. He had always wondered what some of those potions actually tasted like.
Ian then turned his attention to his own belongings. His blanket and sheets were scorched, carrying the acrid scent of burnt fabric, and even his suitcase beneath the bed hadn’t escaped the Ashwinders’ wrath.
Nothing that magic couldn’t fix, of course.
“I reckon the school ought to compensate us for our losses,” William grumbled, tugging at the edges of his singed robes. His socks had also suffered damage, though it seemed the destruction of his underwear hurt the most.
“The one who caused all this should pay,” Michael added more reasonably. “I wonder if the professors will find out who it was.”
Unlikely.
The culprit was still somewhere in the castle… but Ah Foleyson Carrow was nowhere to be found.
“I need to calm down,” Ian muttered, rummaging through his suitcase. Some of his clothes had been damaged, but to his relief, the cans of Muggle soda he’d smuggled in remained intact.
“Thank you, Ermal “Ernie” Cleon Fraze, for inventing the pull-tab can,” Ian murmured as he cracked one open, taking a deep gulp of the fizzy drink.
“Reparo.”
He tapped the rim of the can with his wand, and it magically resealed itself as if it had never been opened.
“I love magic,” he sighed happily, immediately popping open another.
As everyone knew, the first sip of soda was always the best.
“Can you fix my underwear too?” William shuffled over, holding a pitiful handful of ash in his cupped palms. He clearly wasn’t confident in his own spellwork.
As for Ian’s soda, both William and Michael had seen him drink it before and weren’t particularly interested. Muggle drinks didn’t hold much appeal in the wizarding world— certainly not compared to Butterbeer or the sugar-laden concoctions sold at Honeydukes.
Ian let out a long, satisfied belch and eyed the remains in William’s hands. “Even Merlin wouldn’t be able to do anything with that.”
Still, for the sake of experimentation, he gave it a try.
As expected, something that had been reduced entirely to ashes couldn’t be repaired. Restoration spells were powerful, but they couldn’t reverse total destruction. The best he could do was remove the magical traces left behind by the fire— but at the end of the day, ashes were still just ashes.
“You’re better off buying a new pair,” Ian advised.
The last thing he wanted was to be in a duel one day and suddenly hear William’s magically-restored pants disintegrate mid-fight.
“That was a limited edition!”
William looked devastated but still carefully collected the ashes, placing them in a small box. Ian wasn’t sure whether he meant to use them as motivation for his future magical studies or if it was some sort of bizarre keepsake.
Shaking his head, Ian turned back to the mess in their dormitory.
“Reparo.”
One by one, the damaged bedsheets, furniture, and other scattered belongings mended themselves, looking good as new.
“You’re brilliant,” William praised, still mourning his lost underwear. “No wonder you don’t stay up late studying— you’ve already learned all the first-year spells!”
Ian rolled his eyes. “You’re only eleven— why is your imagination so limited?”
With one final flick of his wand, he repaired his suitcase. None of this had tired him out in the slightest. With a magic level of eight, even the events of tonight— Fiendfyre and all— hadn’t really pushed him to his limits.
“Did you disappear during the chaos in the Great Hall?” Michael suddenly asked. “I wanted to share the Every-Flavour Beans Rebecca gave me, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.” He reached into his robes and pulled out an empty box.
“This was her first gift to me,” he said wistfully, stroking the box as if it were a priceless relic. “Even though they were just leftovers, I’ll treasure this forever. One day, I’ll tell our children about it— how our love story began.”
Ian grimaced.
“I need to use the loo.”
The last thing he wanted was to irritate Snape any further. Some things were best left unspoken, and he wasn’t eager for word to spread around the school about what had really happened tonight.
Besides, he didn’t know if it was because he had once seen the way Fiendfyre burned when Aurora had used it before— but tonight, when he had watched Foleyson Carrow go up in flames, he found himself looking away.
Looking back now, the inner turmoil wasn’t as overwhelming as Ian had expected… perhaps because Fiendfyre consumed everything so swiftly. Beyond that, he couldn’t find another explanation.
“When I came back, I saw Professor Snape returning with you. Were you two having a contest to see who could cast a stronger Levitation Charm?” Michael’s keen observation caught Ian off guard— he had noticed Ian’s absence.
“Ian must have had his reasons for leaving. Maybe he was off doing something important—perhaps even saving the wizarding world without us knowing!” William chimed in, clearly attempting to curry favor.
He might not have seen a famous hero in the flesh, but he certainly knew how to flatter.
“Saving the world? That’s a bit much. I’m no Harry Potter. Don’t butter me up like that, or I’ll have to treat you to Chocolate Frogs tomorrow.”
Ian had seen the name of the Boy Who Lived in countless books, which was why so many in the wizarding world were thrilled whenever they caught a glimpse of his name.
His name had been woven into so many tales.
“Do you know Harry Potter? I’m really grateful to him; he avenged my father.” Even Michael seemed to admire him, proof of just how influential Harry was among younger wizards.
William, eager to endear himself to Ian, was pulling out all the stops to praise him as the “new student prodigy.”
He didn’t even hesitate in front of Michael. In fact, William had tried several times to rope Michael into his antics, always brimming with enthusiasm.
Clearly, he was still just another ambitious student.
“Whoosh!”
Ian suddenly stood up, startling both William and Michael.
“Are you leaving?” William looked anxious, worried he might have said something wrong.
“I need to revise your recommendation letter. I realized I didn’t highlight your strengths properly. I like to be thorough with my work.” Ian sat down at a small table.
Sure enough, he picked up a quill and began writing.
William beamed, showering Ian with praise, while even Michael couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the over-the-top flattery.
“With William’s talent, I doubt I’d master it even in seven years. I’m doomed— I’ll never get into the Ministry of Magic.”
…
Outside Hogsmeade, the once-thriving landscape had been reduced to a scorched wasteland. The forest, stretching for hundreds of meters, had vanished entirely, with only rising wisps of steam marking the aftermath of destruction.
Dumbledore stood amidst the devastation, his wand still in hand.
Around him, more than a dozen bodies lay among the ruins, their forms fused with the charred earth.
A swirling cloud of black smoke drifted in, cutting through the lingering heat.
With a calm expression and steady breath, Dumbledore looked up as the thick mist coalesced, taking the form of a tall, black-robed figure.
“I thought you might leave a few alive.” Snape’s voice was quiet, though the acrid scent of burnt flesh made him frown and cover his nose with a sleeve.
“Riddle was willing to let them die just to delay me. The question is— what was he trying to protect?” Dumbledore’s piercing gaze fell on Snape’s empty hands.
It was clear he already suspected what had transpired at Hogwarts.
“The item is likely lost; Ronnie Ehrlich may have taken it before he died… or it could be with young Grindelwald.” Snape’s eyes lingered on the charred remains of the fallen Death Eaters.
The sight was deeply unsettling—twisted, blackened forms barely recognizable as human. The sheer brutality of the magic used here was terrifying, a stark reminder of both the fragility of life and the devastating power of wizardry. It made Snape, the sole witness, feel the weight of Dumbledore’s strength once more.
“If the item weren’t lost, Riddle wouldn’t be acting with such desperation.” Dumbledore nodded, his face unreadable. Then, he turned to Snape. “Do you know what he was after?”
Snape had a strong suspicion that Voldemort’s coveted object was in Ian’s possession— but he dared not say it aloud.
This was no longer the Dumbledore he had once known. Until he understood what had changed, he wasn’t sure if he could trust him.
“I have some theories. In his more lucid years, he returned to me with a request. Perhaps he hid something of great importance at Hogwarts when he came back and I refused him.” Dumbledore’s sharp blue eyes locked onto Snape’s.
“The very thing we’ve been searching for.”
Dumbledore’s words made Snape’s expression flicker ever so slightly.
He quickly averted his gaze.
“What about Marcus Flint?” Snape asked abruptly, unwilling to entertain the idea that one of his own students might be among the casualties.
“The one who cast the Imperius Curse on Mr. Flint wasn’t a Death Eater. I left him in Hogsmeade, watched over by someone I trust— though that trust may be met with resentment.”
Dumbledore’s response eased Snape’s mind slightly. At least the headmaster had not been so ruthless as to eliminate Hogwarts students along with the Death Eaters.
“It seems you’ve dealt with the one who killed Ronnie Ehrlich.” Snape spoke in a low voice, frowning slightly. But to his surprise, Dumbledore shook his head.
“I took certain measures, but the culprit remains elusive. The only ones awaiting me here were pawns— sacrifices Riddle sent to die.”
There was a note of resignation in Dumbledore’s voice. Even a wizard of his power had limits.
“You warned me that the true mastermind sought to frame me. But without the real culprit in sight, how can you be sure this isn’t simply a ploy by Death Eaters who despise me for betraying them?” Snape’s frown deepened. “Isn’t the presence of these Death Eaters proof enough of that?”
Dumbledore let out a quiet sigh.
“I have examined their memories. Their orders were to incite a massacre—to draw me here. What they did not anticipate was my arrival before they could carry out their plan.”
His voice dropped lower. “In a way, the one who cast the Imperius Curse may have unwittingly saved Hogsmeade from needless devastation.”
The implication made Snape’s eyes narrow.
“Are you certain your old friend remains where he ought to be?” He could not help but dwell on the possibility, though he preferred to believe it was mere coincidence.
Anything else would be far more troubling.
“Quite certain.”
Dumbledore’s reply was firm.
“Then you should check young Grindelwald’s memories. I stand by my judgment—only she could have poisoned Ronnie Ehrlich.”
“Ah, Foleyson Carrow was nothing more than a disposable pawn— a recent recruit among the Death Eaters. He lacked the capability to orchestrate Ehrlich’s death.”
Snape’s voice was steady, resolute.
“Foleyson Carrow is dead, isn’t he?” Dumbledore did not answer at once. Instead, he asked the question with quiet certainty, already aware of the answer.
“That’s what I wanted to tell you. He ambushed Ian on the Seventh Floor, forcing Ian to defend himself. He had no choice but to use Fiendfyre.”
Snape felt a sinking weight settle in his chest.
However—
“You let that child face Foleyson Carrow alone?” Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened, his tone edged with something unreadable.
“I only told him to keep an eye on Carrow in the Great Hall, but the fool decided to follow him all the way to the Seventh Floor.”
A shiver ran down Snape’s spine under Dumbledore’s piercing stare.
“Fortunately, the boy is resourceful. He killed Carrow with Fiendfyre and walked away unscathed.” Snape’s voice was measured, though he was already bracing himself. “It was young Grindelwald— do you realize that? She must have taught him the spell!”
His words carried a sharp edge of frustration.
His feelings were conflicted, but his distaste for Aurora Grindelwald was genuine. He could not shake the belief that she— out of sheer recklessness or worse— had led Ian astray. Ian, who was only a Muggle-born with an insatiable hunger for magic.
“A first-year wielding Fiendfyre? I imagine that took Carrow by surprise.”
To Snape’s shock, Dumbledore did not sound remotely outraged. If anything, there was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.
“It’s fortunate nothing went terribly wrong.”
Snape stared. He had fully expected Dumbledore to express outrage, perhaps even immediate disciplinary action.
After all, not two years ago, a student had been expelled simply for attempting to learn the Killing Curse— before they had even mastered it. Everyone knew Dumbledore had no tolerance for the Dark Arts.
“What is wrong with you?”
Dumbledore tilted his head at Snape’s incredulous expression.
“I will give him detention.” Snape found himself grasping for control of the situation. “He needs to understand that some magic should never be learned— let alone used.”
“He should not be condemned for protecting the school and his classmates.” Dumbledore’s voice was gentle, yet firm. “Evil resides in the wizard, not the spell. You, of all people, should understand that.”
There was even a small smile playing at his lips.
“???”
Snape found himself momentarily speechless.
Ian had claimed Dumbledore was aware of his abilities. Snape had dismissed it as an excuse— a lie meant to shield himself from discipline.
But now?
Now, it seemed Dumbledore had genuinely known.
And worse— he did not disapprove.
“But…”
Snape hesitated. He had no desire for Ian to be expelled— or worse, thrown into Azkaban— but this?
Dumbledore was being too lenient.
Was this truly the same Albus Dumbledore who abhorred the Dark Arts?
Since when was learning Fiendfyre not cause for immediate expulsion?
His gaze flickered over the fallen Death Eaters.
And suddenly, an unsettling thought crept into his mind.
Perhaps Dumbledore really had lost his mind.
“St. Mungo’s is open through the night. Come along.” Snape moved to take Dumbledore’s arm, only for the older wizard to step back, puzzled.
“I only asked you to feign injury. Did you truly hurt yourself?” Dumbledore peered at him, as if searching for signs of damage.
“…”
Snape’s expression twisted.
“Miss Grindelwald returns to Hogwarts tomorrow. I want you to keep an eye on her.”
The order came without preamble.
“Didn’t you just say she wasn’t responsible?” Snape narrowed his eyes, thrown by the sudden shift.
Indeed, it was as he thought, Dumbledore had lost his mind.
He was contradicting himself.
“I have my suspicions.” Dumbledore’s gaze drifted toward Hogwarts, his voice quiet, almost distant. “But I wish to know what young Miss Grindelwald knows.”
Snape had no time to ponder the implications before Dumbledore turned away.
“You should go.”
His tone left no room for argument.
“And you?”
Snape did not move.
“I have preparations to make— to take some precautionary measures.”
Dumbledore hesitated, then turned back, pressing an object into Snape’s hand before striding off into the night.
The tower loomed high upon the cliffside, the waves below crashing violently against the rocks.
A faint tremor stirred the air.
Dumbledore’s figure materialized at the tower’s entrance, his robes shifting in the wind as the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon.
Even as the remnants of his Apparition faded, he felt it—
A presence.
Calmly, he lifted his gaze.
At the highest window, a shadowed figure stood motionless.
Their eyes met.
It was as though the figure had been waiting.
Waiting for him.
(End of Chapter)
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