I Apparated to a secluded, pre-designated alleyway near the edge of Hogwarts grounds. The air, once thick with the acrid scent of dark magic, was now a comforting balm of old stone and ancient, quiet power. The castle, a majestic, ancient sentinel against the gathering darkness, was a constant, living reminder of the very things Grindelwald sought to destroy. I felt the familiar, comforting energy of the wards, a stark contrast to the oppressive, malevolent magic of the war. I was home. But I was not at peace.
I found Dumbledore in his office, as I knew I would. He was seated at his desk, his face a mask of profound sorrow, his eyes a sad, weary blue. He did not look up as I entered. He simply gestured to the chair opposite him, a silent, weary invitation. I sat down, my mind a whirl of frantic, terrifying thoughts.
"I know why you're here, Marcus," he said, his voice a soft, tremulous whisper. "I have felt it. The shift in the magical tide. The shattering of the Aetherium Network. I have felt it, and I know who is responsible. I know that you have faced him. But I also know that you have seen what I have seen. The darkness. The power. The sheer, unadulterated terror of the man himself."
"I have, Albus," I replied, my voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I have, and I am here to tell you that the time for hiding is over. The time for waiting is over. The time for your quiet contemplation and your gentle guidance is over. The war is not a distant conflict. Grindelwald has a plan. He intends to perform a massive magical ritual, a ritual that will permanently sever magical Britain from the rest of the world. He intends to make us an easy target, a single, solitary island in a sea of his tyranny. He intends to win the war."
Dumbledore's face was a mask of profound sorrow, his eyes wide with a profound, almost terrifying, understanding. He had seen it. He had felt it. He had known it. But he had been too afraid to act.
"I know what you are saying, Marcus," he said, his voice a soft, tremulous whisper. "I know what you are asking. But you must understand. The war... the war is not just a physical conflict. It is a psychological one. It is a spiritual one. I am not a man who is fighting with a wand. I am a man who is fighting with a heart that is full of regret, a mind that is full of fear. The war... it is a war for the very soul of the magical world. It is a war against the man who I once loved."
"Then you are fighting with a handicap," I countered, my voice a cold, hard diamond in the tense silence. "You are fighting with a ghost. You are fighting with a past that is not a memory, but a living, breathing reality. You must let it go, Albus. You must let it go, and you must face him. You must face him, not as a man who is fighting a war of words, but as a man who is fighting a war of will. You must face him, not as a man who is full of regret, but as a man who is full of hope."
My words, simple and honest, were a powerful balm to my weary soul. I had been so focused on the darkness, on the battle, that I had forgotten the light. I had forgotten the very reason I was fighting. The very reason Dumbledore should be fighting.
"I cannot win this war alone, Albus," I said, my voice a solemn promise. "I cannot win this war without you. I need your help. The magical world needs your help. The very things you seek to protect, the very people you seek to save, they are all in danger. The time for hiding is over. The time for action is now. You must face him. You must face him now, before it is too late."
Dumbledore was silent for a long, a long time. The silence was a profound, suffocating blanket. The fate of the magical world, and the fate of the Muggle world, hung in the balance. The war, which had been a silent, unseen conflict, was now about to become a battle of wills, a confrontation between two forces that were destined to collide. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a profound, almost terrifying, understanding. He had seen what I had seen. He had felt what I had felt. He had, in a single, terrifying moment, understood the full extent of the darkness we were facing.
And then, he spoke, his voice a strong, clear bell in the tense silence. "The time for contemplation is indeed over, Marcus. The time for action has arrived. The war... it is a war that must be fought. And it is a war that must be won. I will fight. I will stand with you. I will face him. I will face him, not as a man who is full of regret, but as a man who is full of hope. The war... it is a war that must be fought. And it is a war that must be won."
The air in the office, which had been thick with the scent of old parchment and ancient magic, now crackled with a new, vibrant energy. The war, which had been a silent, unseen conflict, was now about to become a battle of wills, a confrontation between two forces that were destined to collide. I had won the first battle. I had convinced him. All that was left was the seemingly insurmountable task to face Grindelwald one final time