The night at Hogwarts was quiet and still.
Now and then, the distant hoot of an owl broke the silence, so returning to their perches, others carrying ssages across the vast night sky. The ancient trees on the grounds swayed gently in the evening breeze, their shifting shadows rippling under the moon's pale glow.
The students had long since retreated to their dormitories, lost in dreams beneath enchanted ceilings and warm, protective wards. Moonlight spilled across the castle's tiworn stone, cloaking the school in a silver-white veil.
High above, beneath the towering spires, Grindelwald stood near the window of a secluded tower, his gaze fixed upon the stars. A dim light flickered from within the chamber, casting long shadows on the ground below.
That light.
The figure standing within it.
At this mont, it almost seed as though he was guiding Ian ho.
"Oh, professor, I've killed soone. What should I do about my soul now?" Ian's voice was calm— too calm, but he knew he ought to feign so semblance of distress, at least for appearance's sake.
Whether anyone believed it or not was irrelevant; he had to play the part.
"Murder stains the soul, but one's understanding of the act shapes its impact. In your case… You are faring better than most."
The one answering Ian's question was Grindelwald. And when it ca to the matter of killing and the consequences it wrought, there were few in the world more knowledgeable than he, not even Albus Dumbledore.
"That's because I know I am removing a blight from the wizarding world. Yes, it should be called killing in the na of protection. After all, it is the Dark Lord who has left countless families shattered in his wake."
"My dear roommate Michael will thank , his father was slain fighting the noseless bastard." Ian sought a justification for his actions, a ans to steady his moral footing.
Dumbledore did not respond imdiately. Instead, he turned his gaze skyward, studying the stars much as Grindelwald had done earlier. Whether he was simply lost in thought or attempting so form of divination, Ian could not tell.
He had never been particularly skilled in that branch of magic.
"You certainly have a knack for dressing up your actions in grand reasoning." Grindelwald tutted softly, shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk. Aurora was right. You do have a talent for it, at least when it cos to self-justification."
There was sothing almost amused in his voice, a glimr of approval as he observed Ian's broad, self-assured grin.
Not the expression of a man about to be erased.
Nor did Dumbledore seem particularly mournful about Ian's supposed fate. If anything, there was an urgency in the way he spoke, an underlying insistence rather than sorrow.
Ian found himself feeling a deep sense of admiration. After all, in this strange and forsaken existence, these two n— these titans of magic would ultimately be lost to the ever-turning wheel of fate, swallowed by the shifting tides of this realm's hidden laws.
"Sha I couldn't make use of Voldemort's soul in the cycle…" Ian murmured, a tinge of regret slipping into his tone. He had not anticipated that Dumbledore would insist on personally reducing the Dark Lord to nothing more than cinders.
Had he known it would be so simple to turn Voldemort into re fuel, he would have brought Dumbledore along while brewing potions; perhaps that would have saved him a great deal of effort in bolstering his strength.
"Though your thods for enhancing your magical power are… unusual, you have already reached the peak of what the mortal body can withstand." Grindelwald's voice was calm, asured. He had long since deduced Ian's unique condition, his so-called 'soul furnace.'
Ian's unease lessened slightly at those words.
Dumbledore, too, turned to speak. "And, as we discussed, the cycle you are experiencing is itself a form of magic."
"The power sustaining it cannot allow you to endlessly use Voldemort as a source of augntation." He paused, then added with quiet insistence, "Ian, this ability of yours is dangerous. I hope you do not lose yourself in the reckless pursuit of power. The history of dark magic stands as the clearest warning."
The old headmaster's wisdom was, as always, difficult to refute.
Ian nodded solemnly.
The fact that both Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort had reached the pinnacle of mortal magic, yet wielded vastly different levels of power made it clear that sheer magical strength was not the sole asure of a wizard's ability.
"I suppose there's little point in chasing after more, seeing as you all insist I've already reached the peak," Ian mused. He had heard similar remarks before from both Morgan and Rowena Ravenclaw.
The current situation only reinforced the idea that magical power had its limits. His personal spellcraft— the internal system by which he gauged his own growth— no longer reflected any advancent, nor were there any signs that further developnt was possible.
"Tsk, tsk, listen to him." Grindelwald gave Ian's forehead a light tap with his wand. "So smug. And yet, I suppose you've earned it. Few wizards reach such heights in a lifeti, let alone before they even co of age."
There was an unmistakable note of admiration in the voice of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Dumbledore, however, remained silent, his expression unreadable.
At last, the headmaster lowered his gaze from the sky.
"The timing should be just right now," He said, retrieving the Sorting Hat from where it had rested. Ian recognized it as the sa ancient artifact Dumbledore had given him earlier, though he still did not fully understand why it was necessary for this task.
"What exactly do you an, Professor?" Ian asked, still feeling sowhat lost. Dumbledore had offered little explanation for what they were about to do.
"Your cycle has reached a mont of weakness, which is precisely the kind of opportunity we can exploit," Dumbledore replied succinctly.
"So my theory was right, then? Does breaking the cycle require wearing down its foundation? If the sustaining force is depleted, the whole structure will collapse under its own weight." Ian was genuinely curious. If his hypothesis was correct, then this mont could prove to be a turning point.
Dumbledore gave a small nod. "Indeed. In fact, every task I set before you was intended to erode the core of this cycle. The more you alter the already passed prest, the weaker it becos."
Ian freezes for a mont.
He rembered now that Dumbledore had given him similar advice at the very start, back in his first loop. Could it be that the headmaster had already discerned the nature of the cycle even then?
"Hiss… You realized it that early?" Ian exhaled sharply. Then, narrowing his eyes, he quipped, "You didn't happen to get so prophecy straight from Slytherin himself, did you?"
His own mory was razor-sharp, and he could pinpoint the exact mont Dumbledore had first hinted at this approach. The sheer level of foresight was nothing short of terrifying.
"This is why he's the White Wizard," Grindelwald remarked with a smirk. "Do you begin to grasp just what it takes to defeat ?"
Dumbledore, unimpressed, shot him a warning look.
"It isn't difficult to deduce," The headmaster said calmly. "Once we understood what we were up against, the rest followed naturally."
Grindelwald's grin remained.
Clearly, he and Dumbledore saw things from the sa perspective.
(To Be Continued…)
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