Grindelwald Letter, Albus Fury, a harry potter fanfic

Grindelwald Letter, Albus Fury

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

A hush fell over the Great Hall on a late-autumn morning, where the ceiling overhead swirled with enchanted storm clouds threatening a downpour of conjured rain. Rows of wide-eyed students were seated at their house tables, breakfast plates half-finished. Many of them sensed something unusual stirring in the air. After all, the staff table was hosting an oddly tense group of teachers, each looking as though they had been personally disturbed from important matters. Even the ghosts lurking along the walls drifted closer, their semi-translucent forms drawn by the swirling sense of tension.

At the staff table,Professor McGonagallsat upright, her lips thin and pale.Severus Snapeloomed in the shadows at the far side of the table, a crease of irritation between his brows.Filius Flitwickwrung his hands anxiously.Pomona Sproutkept looking at Dumbledore, trying to gauge whether the Headmaster might enlighten them at any moment as to what was happening.Rubeus Hagrid, fidgeting with his oversized fork, dared not break the silence. It was, however,Madam Pomfreywho most sharply observed the faint trembling in Albus Dumbledore's shoulders.

Dumbledore himself was trying to maintain his typical air of regal calm, but a faint scowl kept tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something had unsettled him, and it was not just the overhead thunder. He quickly schooled his expression into something more serene whenever he caught a passing glance from a curious student.

For three years, a question had quietly weighed upon the staff:Where was Harry Potter?Officially, Dumbledore had said that Harry had gone abroad for "private study." But rumors—widely varying rumors—had circulated. Some said Harry was traveling with a famous tutor, others believed that the Boy Who Lived had been whisked off for advanced training to confront the Dark Lord. The staff was growing more suspicious with each passing month; once it had become years, the entire wizarding world whispered its doubts. Yet none dared ask Dumbledore too many questions. He had been so certain that his carefully laid plan would bring Harry back at the right moment, the perfect hour, to save them all.

In the midst of these private suspicions, on this particular morning, several owls soared through the open windows with mail. An ordinary morning post—except for the dark crimson envelope that bore down like a hawk to land directly in front of Albus Dumbledore's plate.

A few seats down,Professor McGonagallstiffened at once.
"A Howler," she murmured, her Scottish accent quavering with concern. "But from whom?"

Dumbledore's left eye twitched involuntarily. He reached for the letter with a trembling hand. Students all along the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables craned their necks, trying to see who would be receiving a dressing-down in front of everyone.

"Dear me," Flitwick squeaked, standing on his tiptoes behind the staff table. "Why does it look so… ominous?"

The letter had an aura about it. The edges glimmered faintly, as though it were bound with something beyond typical postal magic. The wax seal looked archaic, reminiscent of an older style common in Eastern European wizarding enclaves. Dumbledore recognized it at once: a swirling insignia shaped like a phoenix but with distinctive lines reminiscent of the Elder Wand. He suppressed a roil of nausea, pressing his lips together tightly.

Grindelwald,he thought, ice prickling his can't be… or perhaps it can.

Albus swallowed, trying to maintain dignity. He forced himself to take a measured breath, then placed a hand on the letter. "It would be prudent to open this in private," he managed, though his voice carried an echo through the Great Hall. A wave of murmuring students fell silent.

But the Howler erupted of its own accord, bursting open with a dramatic swirl of magic. The entire hall flinched. A moment later, the red envelope began to , not speak— words filled the Hall, bouncing off the high rafters. Before any teacher could attempt a silencing charm, the letter itself lifted into the air, ensuring that every single person, from the lowliest first-year to the Senior Undersecretary of the Headmaster's Office, would hear.

The Howler's Voice

The Howler soared into the air, unfolding to reveal black script that glowed with an ominous sheen. Then, a voice that was half-sinister and half-amused boomed out, echoing everywhere:

Dear Albus,

I must say, your staff at Hogwarts has always been impressively thorough when it comes to wards and general security—except, apparently, when you're not paying attention. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that you had "misplaced" a certain Boy Who Lived for three long years… only to realize that you never truly bothered to look for him at all. Not until now. And not until I, yourdear old friend,saw fit to make my presence known.

But let's not jump too far ahead. We both know you consider yourself the master planner, the subtle manipulator behind every curtain. So let me first quell your curiosity: yes, I am free—no thanks to the meager, bungled arrangement of magic-suppressing chains you had locked on me. Really, Albus, finesse has never been your strong suit, has it? A small part of me expected better.

But I digress. You're probably wondering how I escaped your cunning trap in Nurmengard, or whatever hovel you thought to seal me in. You see, after years of meticulous effort, spark by spark of my magic found its way into the smallest piece of debris—a bit of ceiling that had flaked off in that decrepit cell. A trifling piece of stone, which I transfigured into a muggle lockpick. Yes,muggle—imagine that. Underestimating them was always your downfall, not mine.

In fact, I am on holiday at the moment with your so-called savior, Harry Potter. You're likely outraged: "Gellert Grindelwald kidnapped the Boy Who Lived!" Let's be honest, Albus, that's precisely the sort of slander you tried once before, blaming me for your own misdeeds. But let's set that record straight, shall we?

First, you forced Harry to live in a cupboard, akin to a prisoner, for the sake of "blood wards." You wanted him to arrive broken, desperate for your guidance. A "damaged" hero, easy to mold. But let me inform you: the boy's spirit is far stronger than you realize—his will is truly admirable. Indeed, I felt a spark of genuine warmth seeing how determined he is to explore magic, to excel, is, at present, happily studying advanced OWL-level material under my tutelage. In between, we lounge on warm beaches in Majorca. A break from the gloom of Britain, I assure you.

Now, let's address the Stone. The Philosopher's Stone, if I recall correctly, was being held at Gringotts. A friend of mine there was more than happy to hand it over in exchange for a handsome sum, no questions asked. So yes, I have it. Immortality suits me, and it will suit Harry as well. I suspect Nicolas Flamel and his lovely Pernille will be rather irate about that little arrangement—and aboutyou,Albus, for letting it slip from their protection. But your plan was never exactly airtight.

Speaking of your so-called new Dark Lord problem, your "Voldemort…" Need I remind you we have seen far worthier foes in the past? You used to be a man of action, Albus, yet now you remain perched in your tower, content to let a child do your dirty work. Prophecies are tricky things. The Department of Mysteries in London is not the only place to hear them—especially if one has friends among the Unspeakables. The difference is, I do my own research. And let me tell you: young Harry's mother already solved your problem. Lily Potter's sacrificial Mater Contego ritual protected the boy's body and soul beyond anything you realized. Indeed, her protective magic recognized aHorcruxin that infamous scar, destroyed it, and then traveled through every tether of Voldemort's fragmented soul, burning each one to cinders. All that remains of the Dark Lord, I suspect, is a ghost of a riddance.

Pity about poor Quirrell. I hear he died quite horrifically. If you truly had the Stone in Hogwarts at that time, with Harry under the same roof, was that not an obvious attempt to dangle the perfect lure for Voldemort? You always did enjoy grand, flamboyant gambits.

I know you're reading this at Hogwarts. I'm certain your staff and your students are listening, perhaps in shock. Go ahead, conjure some feeble explanation. But know this: we are well and truly gone, Harry and I, wards upon wards protecting our location. Do not seek us. You will not succeed.

In time, the boy will be ready to return and help reshape Wizarding Britain. You know my stance: we need a single leader, one with the blessing of the Crown, to unite our people. Instead, you all cowered at the notion of monarchy and twisted it into "evil dictatorship." Fear not—my goal is no wanton , Albus, not chaos. Perhaps I was naive to trust you once, hoping you would see reason.

Finally, do me a favor and tell your dear brother Aberforth to leave the goats alone. It's disturbing, even by my standards, and I've seen plenty. Honestly, your family's eccentricities never fail to baffle. I suspect Ariana fled you all for a reason. Magical Las Vegas, from what I hear, suits her temperament better than your watchful eye.

So, dear Albus, do not look for us. We have piled three separate Fidelius Charms upon our base, each with a different Secret-Keeper—myself, Harry, and a rock. Yes, a literal rock. It amuses me, at least. That said, rest easy. We won't remain idle forever. When the time is right, we will return to Britain and set matters right.

Yours (though never again truly yours),
Gellert Grindelwald

The letter's voice paused, then resumed, quieter but no less mocking:

P.S.:Oh, and for the record, Albus, we were never lovers. You misconstruing our friendship—and stoking the wizarding world to believe it—was a low move. I am, as the muggles say, straight as an arrow. No shame to your preferences, of course, but do not project your unrequited affections onto me.

P.P.S.:One more reminder:do not attempt to find will only end poorly. Now, kindly check on your dear staff, who must be so very scandalized right now.

With a final, explosive snap, the howler disintegrated into vibrant sparks that rained down on Dumbledore's plate, leaving behind a faint scent of charred parchment. Then silence. Not a hush—an almostreverentialhush—descended on the Great Hall.

The Great Hall in Shock

For a moment, no one even breathed. Then came the cacophony: students scrambling to get a better view, exclamations of disbelief echoing off the walls, and staff members leaping from their seats in alarm. The house tables erupted into frantic chatter:

"Did you hear that? Grindelwald took Harry Potter?"

"He said Dumbledore was behind… oh my goodness."

"The Philosopher's Stone is gone? Nicolas Flamel will have his head!"

"What does this mean for the war? Is Voldemort… actually gone?"

At the Gryffindor table, a cluster of first-year students clung to each other, wide-eyed. They had grown up hearing legends of the Boy Who Lived—some had even hoped to meet him in their classes. Now they discovered he might never have actually been a normal student like them.

Meanwhile, at the faculty table, Professor McGonagall found her composure first. She cleared her throat as loudly as possible, rising to her feet.
"Order, everyone, order!" she commanded, voice amplified by her own magic.
Slowly, the Great Hall quieted.
"You will all resume your seats," McGonagall said, looking at the swirling sea of faces. "Breakfast will continue. No one is to panic. There will be an announcement shortly."

She glanced sideways at Dumbledore, who remained seated, eyes shadowed behind half-moon spectacles. He looked disquietinglyoldin that moment, as though the centuries of his life had caught up with him all at once. Yet he forced a genial smile.
"Indeed, my dear students," he began, his voice carrying. "We will address these... unsubstantiated allegations."

He paused, choosing words carefully. From experience, the staff knew that Dumbledore was deciding how best to spin this situation in his favor. They also recognized, to their private alarm, that the letter had saida great deal,with horrifying detail. Covering it all with a simple reassurance might not suffice.

But before Albus could continue, two sets of footsteps resounded at the massive doors to the Great Hall. The large wooden double doors slammed open as though forcibly parted by a gust of magical wind, and a pair of furious individuals stormed in.

There stoodNicolas Flamel, as old as legends claimed, his wizened face contorted in an uncharacteristic rage. Next to him was his wife,Pernille Flamel, a witch who looked equally incensed, her delicate features marred by righteous fury. Despite their wrinkled hands and slight stoop—symptoms of many centuries of life—they crackled with magical energy. In some ways, they appeared more formidable than many of the young Aurors that patrolled the Ministry.

"ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!" Nicolas bellowed, voice carrying like a thunderclap. His accusatory tone made even the bravest students recoil. "You dare meddle withmy Stone!"

Nervous murmurs spread among the students.Nicolas Flamel was one of the world's most famous alchemists, credited with creating the Philosopher's Stone. For him to appear at Hogwarts unannounced was momentous in itself. For him to do so in a blind fury promised chaos.

Pernille brandished her wand, though she didn't cast. Her voice was icier than the coldest winter wind. "We gave it to you, Dumbledore, for safekeeping! Or had you forgotten that little detail?We entrusted youwith the Stone to protect it from those unworthy—"

"—and now it's apparently in the hands of Gellert Grindelwald, of all people," Nicolas interjected, pacing a furious circle. "Gellert! The one wizard we never wanted near it again!"

A wave of shock passed through the Great Hall. The staff hurriedly stood, exchanging worried glances. Dumbledore, for his part, rose slowly, tugging his robes into place with forced calm.

"Calm yourselves, Nicolas, Pernille," he said, voice still gentle though one could detect a faint tremor. "I understand your concern, truly I do, but these… claims in the letter—these are manipulations of the truth. Grindelwald is attempting to pit us all against each other."

Pernillenarrowed her eyes. "He specifically said heboughtit from a contact at Gringotts. If that is the case, how did it leave your possession in the first place? You told us it was hidden within Hogwarts, Albus!"

Dumbledore pressed his lips into a thin line. "I… had placed it in a vault at Gringotts temporarily for safety, under a false name. Measures were being taken to ensure it was transferred to Hogwarts at the start of the new school year. It appears that Gellert exploited a weakness in the system."

"Exploited a weakness?" Nicolas exclaimed. "Hogwash. You lost it due to your own oversights!"

From the staff table,McGonagallcoughed into her hand, uneasy. She, like many at Hogwarts, had believed Dumbledore's official story that the Stone wasalwaysin Hogwarts, hidden beneath layers of traps. If it had been in a Gringotts vault instead, that was news to her. She felt an uncomfortable swirl of betrayal, though she kept her expression stoic.

Across the student body, whispers rose to a crescendo:

"Dumbledore lost the Stone?"

"But we were told it was hidden at Hogwarts last year or the year before."

"Gringotts? Do you think he was lying to Nicolas Flamel all along?"

Dumbledore raised both hands for silence. "We must remain united," he intoned, his voice carrying a paternal note. "These divisive accusations only serve Grindelwald's purpose. I assure you, I had the best intentions—"

Nicolasunleashed a derisive snort, utterly unlike the kindly old man of legend. "Best intentions that parted me from the result of my life's work? You disappoint me, ."

"Grindelwald's letter also implied," Pernille said coldly, "that Harry Potter is with him, studying advanced magic. Albus, how could you allow that boy—who is under your protection— to vanish for three entire years before even noticing?"

A flicker of panic danced behind Dumbledore's eyes, though he disguised it with a long sigh. He tried to keep his tone calm. "Harry's location was carefully concealed even from me by powerful wards. It took time to confirm he was missing."

But it was clear from the letterthat Grindelwald was gloating over how incompetent or indifferent Dumbledore must have been to let the Boy Who Lived slip away unnoticed. The staff table began to exchange anxious, disbelieving looks. Professor Sprout clutched her hands. Professor Snape's sneer deepened, though an astute observer might see confusion beneath his scowl. McGonagall's lips had gone bloodless.

The entire Great Hallwas witnessing the systematic dismantling of Dumbledore's carefully maintained image. Yet Dumbledore refused to show outright fury or despair; he had spent decades perfecting the art of maintaining calm under adversity. He couldnotallow this to tarnish him is Albus Dumbledore, after all, the shining beacon of the wizarding world.

Inside, however, his mind churned in outraged panic:How dare Gellert question my plans?Did the wizarding public not understand all he had sacrificed to keep them safe? The complicated layers of manipulation, the alliances formed, the illusions created—he had done it all for the Greater Good. And here came Grindelwald, with a single letter, threatening to unravel I will not let it happen,Dumbledore vowed silently.I cannot.

He schooled his features into that familiar, grandfatherly expression and spoke, "My friends, Nicolas, Pernille, I will rectify this situation. Let us retire to a more private setting and discuss how best to retrieve the Stone and ensure Harry's safety."

Nicolas's eyes narrowed. "In private? No, Albus. This concerns far more than just you and me. It concerns everyone here who has been deceived about the Stone, about Harry Potter, about a possible threat that might be no more. I intend to get the truthnow."

The tension in the Hall was thick. A few older students—the seventh-years in particular—looked from the Flamels to Dumbledore, uncertain which side to trust. They had grown up venerating Dumbledore as the hero who ended Grindelwald's reign. It was jarring to see him cornered like this.
He forced a benevolent smile. "We mustn't give in to anger or let confusion cloud our judgment," he intoned. "I promise you, we will resolve these matters. Even if Grindelwald has the Stone, even if he claims to have neutralized Voldemort's soul fragments, there remain countless reasons for caution. This letter, for all its arrogance, might be a grand hoax."

"Are you accusing Gellert Grindelwald oflyingabout the Stone or about destroying the Horcruxes?" Pernille demanded, an edge to her voice.

"Indeed, I suspect cunning illusions. Grindelwald is more than capable of fabricating illusions to sow fear and mistrust," Dumbledore declared.

A wave of partial relief swept the Great Hall:maybe it was a hoax?Did that mean Harry wasn't truly missing, or that he wasn't truly with Grindelwald? But that relief was short-lived because of the logic that inevitably followed: if itwasn'ta hoax, then everything was far worse than they imagined.

In the back of Dumbledore's mind, a tidal wave of fury built up:Grindelwald calling me incompetent, mocking my plans… and that nonsense about me overshadowed by him?The nerve. Albus might have believed it once, in the fervor of youth, but he had dedicated his life since then to constructing a persona of unwavering moral leadership. He would not be undone now.

Striving for calm, Dumbledore looked at Nicolas and Pernille. "If you two would join me in my office, we can confirm the status of the Stone by referencing certain… records."

Pernille nodded slowly, though the anger did not leave her face. "We shall. But if we discover you have lied or withheld truths—"

Nicolas interjected, "You and I, Albus, shall have themost severereckoning."

At that precise moment, thunder rolled through the enchanted ceiling, punctuating his threat with dramatic effect. A flash of magical lightning illuminated every face in the Hall, driving home the gravity of the situation.

The sudden hush in the Hall was stifling. Everywhere, eyes were fixed on Albus. For the first time in decades, some students—and staff—regarded him not with reverence, but with open suspicion. Dumbledore fought the urge to lash out. He needed to keep up appearances, at least until he could regroup and craft a coherent explanation.

He brushed imaginary dust from his robes with steady, measured elegance. "Very well," he said softly. "Professor McGonagall, will you kindly oversee the student body for the remainder of the breakfast hour? It appears I have pressing matters to attend to."

McGonagall nodded curtly, looking both concerned and conflicted. "Yes, Headmaster."

With that, Dumbledore swept from the table, beckoning the two Flamels to follow. Pernille shot him a scorching glare but complied, turning on her heel. Nicolas, too, stormed after him, dragging the trailing ends of his voluminous traveling cloak across the floor.

The moment the three left the Great Hall,pandemoniumbroke out among the students. Questions swarmed the air, echoing louder than the thunder. Staff members rushed from table to table, trying to calm the more excitable children. Slytherins whispered in hushed conspiracy. Ravenclaws debated the magical theories behind Grindelwald's claims. Hufflepuffs worried about Harry's wellbeing. Gryffindors fumed at the suggestion that their hero might be in some "Dark Wizard's" care.

Meanwhile, high up in the dais, Professor Snape sat stone-faced, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. "Interesting," he muttered quietly to himself, glancing once at McGonagall as if to say,Finally, cracks are starting to show.

McGonagalltook a deep breath, projecting authority as she commanded the Hall: "All students will please remain in your seats until further notice. We will have official statements soon."

But from the twitch of her mouth, it was clear she had no idea what she would say next.

Not ten minutes later, the storm from the ceiling, both literal and metaphorical, was replaced by a chill hush in the Headmaster's office. The walls bristled with mysterious instruments, half of them whirring or ticking ominously. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, perched silently on his stand, observing the tension with solemn black eyes.

Nicolas Flamel stood with his arms folded, glaring at Dumbledore. Pernille paced restlessly. Dumbledore sank into the large chair behind his desk, trying to muster fatherly warmth despite his inner turmoil.

"We shall begin with the Stone," Pernille said, cutting to the chase. She extended her wand toward Dumbledore's personal cabinet of artifacts and cast a revealing spell. A flicker of light danced over the drawer that should have housed the Stone. It was empty. Pernille's lips thinned. "And your claim of illusions—where is your evidence?"

Dumbledore laced his fingers together on the desktop, forcing a calm expression. "I must confess, the Stone is not physically here," he said measuredly, "but that does not prove Grindelwald's letter to be entirely correct. The Stone may be in a place unknown to me at this moment. It is possible that the Stone was intercepted while in transit from Gringotts."

"Then retrieve the documentation for that vault," Nicolas said sharply, "so we can confirm whether it's truly missing."

With a small sigh, Dumbledore pulled open a drawer and extracted a bundle of parchment. The old wizard tapped it with his wand, causing a swirl of runes to appear. "Here is the record from Gringotts for the past month. As you can see… oh dear."

His voice caught in his throat. On the parchment was a single, damning statement:Withdrawal granted: One item designated "Project Aeon," authorized under special signature.

"That is a cipher for the Stone." Pernille's expression darkened. "We all agreed on that code name."

Nicolas snatched the parchment, reading further. "Authorized under special signature. A sum of gold to the account of Ragnok, High Teller. That means bribe." He stared pointedly at Dumbledore. "You want us to believe Grindelwald was cunning enough to pull that off, all under your nose? You said you had wards at the bank, illusions and decoys."

Dumbledore's composure teetered. "Yes," he admitted. "But evidently, Gellert is not lacking in cunning. I had not foreseen him infiltrating the bank—"

"Your short-sightedness is staggering," Nicolas snapped, slamming the parchment down on Dumbledore's desk. "Now he has the Stone. Pernille and I are losing our only guaranteed extension of life. Do you grasp the seriousness?"

Dumbledore bristled dare they address me so harshly?"I do," he said quietly. "But rest assured, you are still well. The Elixir of Life can be brewed from the Stone's essence, but you must have existing reserves, do you not?"

Nicolas huffed in frustration. "Not infinite reserves, Albus. We had a method—once a year, we brew a fresh batch. That is how we maintain longevity and health. Now… everything is uncertain."

Pernille stepped forward, her eyes ablaze. "Our lives aside,Harry Potter'slife is now tangled with Grindelwald's, and you had no clue. You just let him vanish, let the wards on those awful Muggle relatives' house stand unmonitored for years!"

That accusation jabbed at Dumbledore's guilt. "I had… a system. I trusted that certain wards would alert me if Harry ever left the premises permanently—"

"Clearly, they did not," Nicolas said, voice dripping with scorn. "That system failed. Or perhaps you neglected it."

The Tipping Point
Dumbledore's jaw clenched. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. "You speak to me as though I've not dedicated my life to protecting this world!My life,Nicolas!" He pointed to the various magical trinkets on the shelves. "These instruments have been used for decades to monitor threats, to keep watch. Forgive me if I assumed Gellert would remain locked away in Nurmengard. Even so, once I suspected something was wrong, I tried to confirm Harry's location, but I found only wards upon wards concealing him."

He leaned forward, pressing his palms onto the desk. "Ihavemade mistakes. But that does not excuse Gellert's kidnapping of the boy, his infiltration of Gringotts, or his theft of the Stone. He is a cunning manipulator."

Nicolas and Pernille exchanged a glance. Finally, Nicolas sighed. "Very well. We must find him. We must find Harry. You cannot expect to keep this quiet."

Dumbledore nodded stiffly. "If you will assist me, I can combine your knowledge of the Stone's unique aura with my own tracking magic. We may be able to locate them."

Inside, he raged,Gellert, you will pay for exposing me. How dare you threaten my carefully built reputation?He forcibly shoved those thoughts aside, smoothing out his expression.

"Until we have something tangible, we must maintain an appearance of composure," Dumbledore continued. "Hogwarts must not panic. The staff must be assured that Harry Potter is safe, or will be soon. The wizarding public must remain calm."

Pernille looked less than convinced. "Grindelwald's letter is out. People will talk. They're already talking."

"Yes," Dumbledore conceded, "but we can frame it as a malicious attempt to undermine public confidence. As I said, illusions. The letter may claim many things—some may be true, some may be false. We do not need to confirm or deny them all right now."

Nicolas peered into Dumbledore's eyes. "You are truly not sure which parts are real, are you?"

A moment of silence passed. Dumbledore exhaled slowly. "I suspect Gellert has indeed taken the Stone. As for the demise of Voldemort… I cannot be certain. If he truly performed Blood Magic to eradicate all Horcruxes, that is a dramatic turn of events."

"Dramatic indeed," Pernille said softly. "If Voldemort is gone, truly gone, that changes everything—for better or worse. Some might celebrate. Some might question why you and the Ministry led them to believe they had to rely on a schoolboy to end that threat."

Dumbledore's face paled, and his voice turned grave. "We must be sure. And if Grindelwald orchestrated this scenario to gain support—imagine the reaction of wizarding Britain if they discover he singlehandedly freed them from the Dark Lord. They will flock to him, no longer seeing him as the monstrous threat of old."

Nicolasslowly nodded. "Yes. This is bigger than the Stone or Harry Potter alone. This is about the future alignment of magical Britain. Grindelwald is positioning himself as a savior."

"And Dumbledore stands to lose everything if the truth emerges," Pernille added, her tone not unsympathetic. She had known Albus for years, even respected him once. But now she saw how precariously he stood upon the brink of public disgrace.

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling. "Let us proceed. We shall unify our magic to try to locate the Stone's aura—if it is indeed outside Britain, we will proceed from there."

He retrieved a small orb from a compartment in his desk: an ancient locator device keyed to the Stone's unique magical signature. This had been part of their arrangement years ago. Holding it in his palm, he gestured for Nicolas and Pernille to join him. They placed their wands upon it, each whispering incantations.

A faint glow flickered inside the orb, swirling slowly at first, then intensifying. Sparks whirled within. The three wizards concentrated, weaving their combined energies.

After a few moments, the glow shrank into a single point of blue light, pulsing. Then it blinked out completely. Dumbledore's hand twitched. "That… that suggests multiple layered Fidelius Charms. It is being blocked."

Nicolas closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. Pernille exhaled a soft, trembling sigh. "Then it is as Grindelwald said. He's hidden himself and Harry behind triple Fidelius wards."

Dumbledore set the orb down, his expression grim. "We can attempt other methods, but if Gellert is serious, it may require more cunning."

Their standoff of pained silence was broken by a sudden swirl of motion in the office.Fawkesspread his golden-red wings, letting out a haunting note. The phoenix's lament seemed to reflect the turmoil in the room.

Pernilleturned away, smoothing her robes. "We had best face the public, Albus. And you had best find a more convincing explanation than what we've heard so far."

With that, they turned to leave. As Nicolas reached the door, he cast Dumbledore a final look—somewhere between betrayal and pity. "We will speak further soon. I expect honesty, Albus."

When they left, Dumbledore sank back into his chair, shoulders sagging. A deep well of fury and embarrassment seethed beneath his calm exterior:How dare Gellert humiliate me like this? How dare he destroy my carefully wrought plans to guide Harry? And how dare the Flamels speak to me as though I am a foolish child?

He glanced at Fawkes, who regarded him sadly. The Headmaster straightened, brushing frustration from his face. "We shall see who emerges triumphant, old friend," he murmured, voice full of determined steel. "I will not let Gellert Grindelwald disrupt my reputation so easily."

While the confrontation in Dumbledore's office took place, the rest of Hogwarts descended into a flurry of speculation. Students across every House spoke in hushed, excited voices, dissecting the letter line by line.

At the Gryffindor table, a cluster of older students debated Harry's whereabouts. Some had tears in their eyes, worried for the Boy Who Lived. Others burned with indignation that Dumbledore might have misled them.

In Ravenclaw Tower, library tables were crowded with students pulling out books on wizarding history, seeking references to the Mater Contego ritual Lily Potter had allegedly used, or old treatises on Blood Magic.

Slytherin Dungeonwas abuzz with talk of power dynamics. If Grindelwald truly possessed the Stone and had destroyed Voldemort, did that place him at the apex of wizarding might? Some Slytherins whispered that perhaps they ought to pledge allegiance to this newly reborn legend. Others balked, uncertain whether it was just a manipulative ploy.

Hufflepuff Common Roomwas anxious for the well-being of everyone involved, from Harry to the goats in Aberforth's questionable care. They whispered about the cruelty of leaving Harry in a cupboard.

By midday, staff morale also hung by a thread.McGonagallwas in her office, rapidly drafting a statement for the Daily Prophet that tried to calm the public.Snapeprowled the corridors, awarding or docking House points just to keep discipline from collapsing.Flitwickscurried about with his arms full of reference books on advanced wards, hoping to glean any new method to locate Harry.

Word had spread that Nicolas and Pernille Flamel had arrived. Rumors flew that they had threatened Dumbledore with personal wrath unless he reclaimed the Stone. A few staff members quietly wondered if they should still trust the Headmaster. If the letter was true about some things, could it be true about others? Had Dumbledore truly manipulated events all these years?

Once lunch rolled around, theGreat Hallwas filled again—though this time, the tension had escalated. No classes had been officially canceled, but few students could concentrate on lessons. Many expected some kind of official announcement.

Just as lunch was served, a swirl of dramatic color signaled the arrival of Dumbledore, Nicolas, and Pernille. Albus led the way, striding with purpose. The whispers reached a crescendo, only to hush when he raised his hands.

"Your attention, please," Dumbledore began, his voice echoing sonorously. "This morning's… unfortunate disturbance has raised many questions. I wish to assure you all that Hogwarts remains secure, that we have full confidence in the school's wards, and that you—our students—are safe from all external threats."

He paused, letting the reassurance settle over the crowd. Some believed him wholeheartedly; others exchanged dubious glances.

"As for the content of the letter that you all heard," he continued in a measured tone, "we have reason to believe it contains significant falsehoods. We are investigating the veracity of its claims, particularly those pertaining to the Philosopher's Stone and Mr. Harry Potter. I strongly urge you not to be taken in by rumors or fear."

It might have been a comfort under normal circumstances, but the tension in the Hall suggested that not everyone was convinced.

Nicolas Flamel, standing at Dumbledore's side, wore a thunderous expression. His jaw was clenched. Pernille fared no better, her lips pressed in a hard line. It seemed they were allowing Dumbledore to speak first, if only to see what he would say.

Dumbledore concluded, "We will inform you of any major developments. Until then, your primary focus should be on your studies. Hogwarts is, and always shall be, a sanctuary for learning."

With that, he inclined his head and stepped back. A murmur spread throughout the Hall. The staff table received Dumbledore with taut civility, but an undercurrent of suspicion and worry lingered.

As students dined, the staff began to whisper among themselves.McGonagallleaned toward Dumbledore, speaking softly so as not to be overheard: "Albus, do we have a plan in place for ensuring the students' safety if— if Grindelwald decides to make a more public appearance?"

Dumbledore gave a gentle smile that did not reach his eyes. "I have certain precautions in mind, my dear Minerva. We need only hold steady until I can ascertain Gellert's next move."

McGonagall nodded uncertainly. Across from them, Snape spoke in his low, sardonic drawl, "It would be rather hypocritical if Grindelwald denounced your leadership while simultaneously returning Harry to Hogwarts to dethrone the Ministry, would it not? Perhaps he wants to brand himself a liberator. Perhaps… perhaps not."

Dumbledore's expression hardened just a fraction. "If you have anyinsights, Severus—"

Snape shrugged. "Only that you once told me, Headmaster, thatyouwere the only wizard Grindelwald ever feared. Now, it appears quite the opposite: he is mocking you. Possibly he feels you fear him."

Dumbledore's hand tightened on his fork. "I assure you, Severus, I do not fear him."

McGonagall darted a warning glance at Snape, trying to forestall any further antagonizing comments. The tension among them threatened to boil over.

By the next morning, word had already reached the wider wizarding community. TheDaily Prophetfront page bore the headline:GRINDELWALD SPEAKS FROM THE SHADOWS – HARRY POTTER IN HIS CARE?Sub-headers includedPhilosopher's Stone Allegedly MissingandFlamels Accuse Dumbledore of Negligence.

Outrage, confusion, and panic spread throughout wizarding Britain. Many older witches and wizards, who still recalled Grindelwald's reign of terror decades ago, were horrified that he might be free again. Yet others pointed to the letter's details, claiming it must be a hoax or that Grindelwald might truly be reformed. Some noted he had apparently destroyed Voldemort. Was that not agoodthing?

The Ministry of Magicscrambled to address inquiries. Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold struggled to calm the populace, promising an investigation into Gellert Grindelwald's rumored escape. Aurors were deployed to known Grindelwald sympathizer communities, though many had died out or gone underground decades before.

Rita Skeeter, that notorious reporter, circled Hogwarts like a vulture, seeking a statement from Dumbledore. She pestered staff and students, fueling the rumor mill with lurid Dumbledore lied about Harry's disappearance all along? Was the Boy Who Lived actually aligned with Grindelwald?

On the third day after the letter's arrival, as morning dawned on the Great Hall, the post owls streamed in again. Among them soared a singlescarletenvelope, reminiscent of Grindelwald's howler—but this one was borne by a handsome eagle owl wearing a small gold band with the Flamel crest. It flew directly to Dumbledore's seat.

Students howler?

Dumbledore braced himself. He recognized the crest and Nicolas or Pernille has decided to publicly upbraid me as well? How dare they?

The envelope burst open, taking flight as the voices of Nicolas and Pernille Flamel issued forth together, amplified to carry across the Hall:

Albus Dumbledore,
This is a formal demand that you rectify the situation with the Philosopher's Stone immediately. We have spared you the public scolding thus far, hoping you would show results. Yet you have produced none. Every passing hour sees more speculation and less proof of your competence. Our patience is nearing its end.

We do not speak alone. The wizarding world deserves answers about the Boy Who Lived, about your involvement in old dark conspiracies, and about the alleged destruction of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Unless you produce a viable plan—and quickly—we will be forced to withdraw our support of your leadership. We were your allies once, but we cannot stand idly by while you keep the truth from us all. If Gellert Grindelwald does indeed have the Stone, it may bring catastrophic consequences if mishandled—regardless of any claims he makes about "monarchies" or "reform."

Heed our words, Albus. We will no longer remain silent.

With that final warning, the howler dissolved into a swirling cloud of shimmering particles, then vanished.

Silence reigned once again. Eyes flicked from the dissipating sparks to Dumbledore. He sat rigid, the expression on his face grave. A corner of his mind seethed:First Gellert, now the Flamels… "How dare they tarnish me?"But he carefully schooled his features into outward calm.

From the staff table, McGonagall felt her heart sink. The public humiliation was intensifying, and the staff could do nothing but watch. Students began whispering fiercely among themselves once more, the noise swelling to a frenzied pitch.

Summoning every ounce of composure, Dumbledore rose, placing his napkin aside. With a flick of his wand, he magnified his voice: "My dear staff and students, please proceed with your breakfast. I will address this matter shortly."

He turned and swept out of the Great Hall, his ornate robes trailing behind. Within him, frustration gnawed at his dare Nicolas threaten me so openly, and in front of the entire school… but he sees my predicament, and he is pressing the advantage.

A swirl of conflicting emotions battered him. He recalled his youth, the illusions of grandeur he once shared with Gellert.All the half-formed dreamsof forging a new world order, the tragedy with Ariana, the heartbreak, the guilt, the bitter betrayal. He had dedicated his life to atoning for those mistakes… but Gellert was threatening to drag every skeleton out of the closet.I cannot let him succeed. I must salvage my plan.

Albus could not quell the lingering, bruised sense of personal is mocking me,he thought,and now the Flamels pile the silent corridors, as he strode back to his office, his expression twisted momentarily with fury. Then he tamped it down again. The outward image of the kindly headmaster had to remain intact.

Over the next few days, Hogwarts was thrown into near chaos. The staff valiantly kept classes running, but the entire wizarding world's gaze was fixed on them. Daily Prophet reporters circled like sharks. The Ministry demanded an official statement. Nicolas and Pernille Flamel conferred with Dumbledore behind closed doors but emerged looking more frustrated each time.

Below the surface, an almost tangible crack formed in Dumbledore's once unassailable image. Students overheard staff gossip, glimpsed the tension in the corridors, and felt the swirling undercurrents of doubt.

Finally, the day came when Dumbledore decided to address the assembled school and the wizarding press in a special gathering in the Great Hall. He insisted on presenting a unified front: the staff at his side, the Flamels in attendance. The rumor mill proclaimed that even the Minister for Magic might show up.

The Great Hall was prepared for the press. Rows of floating cameras, enchanted quills, and officials hovered near the back. Nicolas and Pernille Flamel sat in prominent seats among the staff. Students filled the rest of the hall, a hush falling over them as they anticipated a grand announcement.

Dumbledorestepped forward to a dais, sweeping his gaze across the crowd. Tall, imposing, every inch the venerable wizard, he faced them with somber dignity.

He began in a calm, resonant voice, "My fellow witches and wizards, my dear students: the last few weeks have been fraught with rumor, fear, and confusion. It is time to share what clarity we have."

A hush of anticipation: quills scribbled, cameras flashed with magical light.

Dumbledore continued, "We have confirmed that Gellert Grindelwald is indeed free from his former imprisonment. How he escaped remains unclear, though he boasts of cunning subterfuge. We also believe he has come into possession of the Philosopher's Stone." He gestured to Nicolas and Pernille, who looked on stiffly.

"I, Albus Dumbledore, assume responsibility for the lapse in its protection," he said, voice grave. "I had entrusted Gringotts with its safekeeping, and that trust was violated. Furthermore, there is reason to believe that Mr. Harry Potter, who was expected to attend Hogwarts, has been in Grindelwald's company for some time. The wards designed to alert me to his whereabouts appear to have been circumvented."

A ripple of tense murmurs. Some audience members scowled at Dumbledore, others looked frightened at the mention of Grindelwald's name.

Dumbledore pressed on: "I must stress, however, that many claims in Grindelwald's letter remain unverified, particularly those regarding Lord Voldemort's fate. We cannot yet confirm that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is truly gone. Until we have concrete evidence, we must remain vigilant."

Here, some reporters called out questions, but Dumbledore raised a hand, forestalling them. "My objective is to rectify these matters, to secure the Stone, and ensure young Mr. Potter's wellbeing. I implore the wizarding community to place their trust in me once more."

Nicolas Flamel stood, his ancient face stern. "You have neglected to mention the timeline for these actions, Dumbledore. Pernille and I are no longer content with open-ended promises."

Dumbledore regarded him evenly, ignoring the humiliating scenario of being chastised in public. "I offer you a renewed alliance. I vow to gather the resources of the Ministry, the Order of the Phoenix—if needed—and every dedicated witch or wizard to track Grindelwald."

Pernillenarrowed her eyes. "And what will you do if the letter is correct, if Voldemort is indeed destroyed, and Grindelwald returns to Britain with a plan to crown a single Wizarding Monarch?"

A surge of hushed conversation rippled through the watchers:A monarch? That was in the letter, right?

Dumbledore took a breath. "I stand by the principle that wizardkind should not place absolute power in a single individual. We are a democratic society, as guided by the Wizengamot."

Nicolas gave a curt nod. "Then we are in agreement. We must not allow Grindelwald to seize power. But we also must not dismiss the possibility that he might have done something beneficial in removing Voldemort. The facts remain elusive."

At that moment, a swirl of bright green flames burst into life in the middle of the Hall—someone was forcibly pushing through the Floo. Gasps rang out, wands were drawn. The swirling glow resolved into the figure ofMinister for Magic Millicent Bagnoldand half a dozen Aurors. Bagnold looked flustered at the spectacle around her. Cameras flashed.

She strode forward, projecting authority. "I demand to be informed of all new developments, Dumbledore!" she declared, ignoring the stares of students. "The Ministry must not be kept in the dark."

Dumbledore gave a weary half-bow. "Minister, I was just briefing everyone. Welcome."

Bagnold's eyes flicked to Nicolas and Pernille. "Flamels. Good, we have you as well. So what is our next step?"

Seizing the momentto reassert some of his lost dignity, Dumbledore straightened, letting his aura of power fill the space. "We will form a specialized task force, combining the Ministry's resources, the expertise of the Flamels, and Hogwarts staff. Our aim: locate Grindelwald, confirm the Stone's safety, and ensure young Mr. Potter's wellbeing. In the meantime, we maintain strong wards around Hogwarts to prevent infiltration. I will personally oversee these expansions."

There was a beat of silence. Then the Minister nodded solemnly. "Agreed, Headmaster."

Rita Skeetertried to hurl a question. "Headmaster, is it true you forced Harry Potter to live in a cupboard? Did you—"

Dumbledore glared, wand flicking in a silent wave, and a hush fell over her. "I will not address unsubstantiated allegations," he intoned calmly, though a muscle jumped in his jaw.

A swirl of side conversations erupted, but with the Minister and the Flamels' presence, it seemed the official stance was set:Pursue Grindelwald, recover Harry, salvage the Stone, and verify Voldemort's status.

Yetin every corner of the Great Hall, from the highest official to the humblest first-year, the same question burned in everyone's mind:What if the letter was right? What if Grindelwald truly has destroyed Voldemort and is simply biding his time to bring the Boy Who Lived back as a new champion of the wizarding world?

As the special assembly ended and the visitors departed, life at Hogwarts resumed—though under the weight of collective uncertainty. The daily routine of lessons, feasts, and Quidditch practice offered a semblance of normalcy, but the rumor mill never ceased.

Privately, Dumbledore seethed. He retired to his office night after night, poring over ancient texts, drafting desperate letters to obscure contacts in Eastern Europe, even attempting taboo magics to pierce triple Fidelius wards. His frustration grew like a festering wound, feeding his righteous anger:How dare Gellert cause me this humiliation—how dare he threaten my carefully wrought reputation?But outwardly, he remained the poised father-figure, offering gentle smiles to the students.

Meanwhile, Nicolas and Pernille Flamel took up residence in Hogsmeade, meeting daily with Dumbledore in tense sessions. They insisted on updates, threatened to go public with more accusations if progress wasn't made. Their fears for their mortality and for the Stone overshadowed any lingering loyalty to Dumbledore.

Across wizarding Britain, witches and wizards speculated:Was the Dark Lord truly gone? Did Grindelwald's letter speak the truth? If so, was he now a hero?Some secretly admired him for freeing them from Voldemort, while others dreaded a second age of Grindelwald.

As for Harry Potter—his name was on every tongue, invoked with pity, curiosity, or hope. The boy who vanished, the boy who might return. A swirl of rumor, legend, and conspiracy theories grew around him.

Late one night, after the final meeting with the Flamels for the day, Dumbledore sat alone at his desk, the firelight dancing in his tired eyes. Fawkes dozed on his perch, occasionally letting out a soft coo.

Dumbledore picked up the battered copy of the letter from Grindelwald—he had retrieved it from the incinerated remains of the Howler by means of a memory charm. He read over those lines of mocking scorn, lines that highlighted his mistakes, lines that threatened everything he had built. With shaking hands, he set it down.

He pressed his palms together and leaned forward, his voice a low whisper that none but Fawkes could hear:
"Harry, forgive me… I only wanted to guide you, to ensure you were ready to face Voldemort. If that threat is truly gone, then perhaps you no longer need me. But if Gellert seeks to use you for his own ends, I must intervene.I will not let him win—no matter what."

In the flickering candlelight, the old wizard's gaze burned. He knew that public trust in him was waning, that the Flamels were breathing down his neck, that Grindelwald was out there, biding his time. Yet he was Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age—he wouldnotbe bested so easily.

Outside, the winds howled across the castle's turrets, and the wards shimmered faintly with new layers of protective magic. Far away in a hidden corner of the world, Gellert Grindelwald and Harry Potter might have been enjoying the beach, working on advanced spell theory, or simply laughing at the chaos they had unleashed. In time, they would return—of that, Dumbledore had little doubt.

And when that day came, wizarding Britain would face a reckoning unlike any it had seen before.

THE END

AN:

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