Ian himself was rather skilled in the art of half-truths.
"If you say so." He gave Dumbledore a long, searching look, but the elder wizard's expression remained unreadable— composed and grave, betraying nothing.
"I remember you said Professor Ronnie Ehrlich is also key?" Ian hadn't forgotten the chilling conclusion the two old men had reached: that to break the cycle, they would need to kill the unfortunate Acolyte, Ronnie Ehrlich.
"That matter is already settled. He has given his life for our cause," Dumbledore answered quietly, his gaze lingering toward the distant silhouette of Hogwarts Castle, looking steady and solemn.
Ian opened his mouth to press further—
"In truth, he was meant to die long ago," Grindelwald said, resting a firm hand on Ian's shoulder. "So, in a way… ashes to ashes."
His voice, for once, carried a trace of sorrow.
Ian felt the weight of it press down on him.
"I hope Professor Ronnie Ehrlich finds peace on the other side." He could only offer silent respect for the man who had borne so much pain for his sake.
Perhaps it would have been kinder had death come swiftly.
"That is what we all hope for." Dumbledore and Grindelwald exchanged a brief glance and with quiet purpose, raised their time-worn wands.
Ian, too, lifted his wand, standing between the former headmaster and the current Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
"Finite Incantatem!"
"Finite Incantatem!"
"Finite Incantatem!"
They did not drive their wands into the earth, nor did they need to, their magic laced directly into the fabric of the air itself. Their voices echoed in unison through the still night, ringing out before the tower with ancient authority. A pulse of magic surged outward like a rising tide, shaking the very space around them. The power roared and buckled like a tempest at sea— deep, immense, and terrible.
Wave after wave of magic crashed against the invisible boundary.
At the height of magical prowess, the wizards summoned forth extraordinary power— magic vast enough to shift mountains and drain lakes— unleashing it in a relentless surge, as if intent on drawing all that surrounded them into the eye of the storm.
The dazzling radiance of their combined spells shimmered like a vast arcane net, flaring into existence before gradually sinking into the very air around them. Ian could feel it— something buried, something strange, beginning to stir within the fabric of the world.
Like an egg.
Its shell peeling away, layer by unseen layer.
Though nothing seemed altered on the surface, every pulse of magic struck against some invisible membrane, rippling through space like echoes on the surface of a still pond.
As though time and space themselves had begun to tremble. The two elder wizards and the boy, their robes billowing in the maelstrom, stood at the centre of it all. Ian felt himself being drawn into a terrifying spiral alongside Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
The world around him began to blur. Shapes warped and shifted, colours bled into one another, images twisting into impossible geometries.
Within the storm played scenes he could not quite grasp— fleeting fragments of storylines abandoned by fate, possibilities cast aside into oblivion. Ian squinted into the chaos, but no matter how he tried, he could not discern them clearly.
Voices tangled around him, woven through the air like the chanting of ancient seers or the mutterings of half-remembered gods. He had brushed against such sensations once before— when caught in the fading memories of Professor Ronnie Ehrlich.
"Three of us— is that not enough?"
Albus Dumbledore's voice cut through the storm, steady and strong. Each surge of his magic struck at the heart of the swirling visions, but the tangled illusions refused to break.
They only twisted harder.
The pace quickened.
"It shouldn't be like this…" Grindelwald's expression darkened at last. Linked through their spellwork, he could feel Dumbledore's power pressing forward again and again— only to falter each time against the sheer weight of magical resistance.
"I'm starting to feel light-headed," Ian admitted, fighting to stay upright amidst the shifting currents. "What happens if this doesn't work?"
Among the three, Ian's magical foundation was clearly the most fragile. His energy waned quickly, and exhaustion gnawed at him with a speed the others did not yet feel.
"Then we stay trapped here in this crack between worlds. Forever, perhaps," Grindelwald replied with maddening cheer, as if the idea amused him. His tone was too light to be comforting, and Ian couldn't tell whether the old wizard was being sincere or making one of his maddening jokes.
"Now is not the time for levity, Gellert," Dumbledore said firmly. His focus never wavered, and his command of the magic flowing around them was masterful, even attempting to synchronise Ian's and Grindelwald's efforts with his own to pierce the veil.
But the madness would not yield.
In fact, the space around them began to twist further, warping like a mad painter's canvas— shapes smeared into nonsense, stars bleeding into soil, as though the heavens and earth had forgotten where they belonged.
"Clearly, we underestimated Salazar Slytherin's spellwork," Grindelwald muttered, even managing a dry chuckle. "Tsk, tsk." Though the magic spilling from his wand matched Dumbledore's in sheer force, Ian couldn't help but feel the man wasn't pushing himself fully.
Did he want to remain here forever— with his old friend?
"Oh, for Merlin's sake!"
Ian didn't usually give any credence to the schoolyard rumours about the two old men, but this surreal trap made him uneasy. Was he going to be stuck here with them forever?
"Can't we just… go back?"
He turned hopefully to Dumbledore, who at least appeared more dependable in moments like this.
But—
The old headmaster said nothing.
That silence gnawed at Ian's composure. The more distorted the world became, the stronger his unease grew.
He had the overwhelming sense that they were all being dragged toward something worse—toward the heart of this broken place.
Into the chaos.
Into the abyss of fate.
A place that wished to consume everything.
Maybe Grindelwald wasn't joking after all.
"Don't worry," Dumbledore said suddenly, as though reading the thoughts spiralling in Ian's mind. His eyes glinted with determination, a spark of something ancient igniting behind the calm. "I gave my word— I will get you out of here."
But just as the headmaster appeared ready to act—
Ian's wand began to tremble violently.
The magical link binding him to Dumbledore and Grindelwald flickered, the stabilising flow between them unraveling. Grindelwald's eyes went wide with alarm.
"Damn it! I wasn't joking!" He shouted. "Don't try to cast anything else!" There was a rare hint of panic in his voice, and without hesitation, he lunged— grabbing the young wizard at his side.
"This will erase you from history entirely!"
Grindelwald bellowed the warning, his voice heavy with urgency as he addressed Ian.
However—
"I wasn't trying to cast anything else..." Ian replied cautiously, just as shimmering silver threads began to snake from the tip of his wand. By the time he'd finished speaking, the threads had multiplied— countless luminous strands swirling into the air.
They spun and wove between Ian, Albus Dumbledore, and Grindelwald, gradually converging and taking form. From the intricate lattice emerged a graceful figure. The girl glanced curiously around at the warped and shifting space.
And then—
Under Ian's astonished gaze, Dumbledore's stunned silence, and Grindelwald's sharp intake of breath, Ariana Dumbledore looked not at the three of them— but at the Sorting Hat held tightly in her elder brother's hands.
Her gaze, however, seemed to pierce deeper— as though she were seeing something far beyond the surface.
(To Be Continued…)
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