At Hogwarts, Dumbledore lounged comfortably in the Headmaster's office, stretched out on a chair, casually selecting pastries from the silver tray beside him. Every now and then, he let out small, contented hums of satisfaction.
Swish! Crack!
Suddenly, a silver light shot through the distant sky, shattered the glass of the Headmaster's window, and darted straight toward him.
Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow, lazily extending a finger. The silver light froze mid-air, transforming into a small, shimmering whale—Kai Adler's Patronus.
He recognized it immediately.
Wasn't that boy traveling through Egypt with Hermione? What business did he have sending Patronus messages back to Britain now? The old man paused, finger hovering over the silvery form, a frown slowly forming beneath his beard.
Normally, if Kai was off adventuring, he'd be too distracted to remember an old man like him—unless he'd gotten himself into trouble again…
Dumbledore's beard twitched slightly in irritation.
The fallout from that boy annihilating the Ivor family still hadn't settled. From an outsider's perspective, a notorious Dark Wizard family had been wiped out overnight, the perpetrator still unknown. No one could confirm if it was the work of an individual, an organization, man or woman, young or old.
Paranoia now gripped the pure-blood families. Whispers circulated like wildfire: that a lone entity could strike at any time, erasing even the most well-established bloodlines without warning.
Some even believed the ridiculous rumor that Harry Potter himself had destroyed the Ivor family. That gossip, unfortunately, had even reached Dumbledore's ears.
Thankfully, Fudge remained reasonably sane at this stage, leaning towards appeasement and stability. The Ministry had quietly buried the investigation.
And yet… here this was.
The old man clicked his tongue in amusement, triggering the Patronus with a tap of his finger laced with Black Magic.
"Yo~ Old Man…" Kai's voice rang out from the shimmering whale, playful and casual at first.
But as the message continued, Dumbledore's relaxed demeanor shifted. His expression hardened, the lines on his forehead deepening, his sharp blue eyes glinting dangerously.
Assassination. Someone had made an attempt on Kai Adler's life.
That alone was troubling. If Kai were to die, the delicate balance of the magical world could very well collapse again.
And then came the real problem—the memories Kai had extracted from the assassin revealed that members of the Ebo family had discovered Kai's connection to Gellert Grindelwald.
Dumbledore's gaze darkened.
The Ebo family… a secluded, secretive pure-blood line. Reclusive by nature, but dangerous when provoked. Yet he wasn't surprised they'd want to eliminate anyone tied to Gellert. His old… companion… had committed enough atrocities to inspire generations of hatred.
But what disturbed Dumbledore wasn't their motive—it was how they discovered the link.
The fact that Kai was Gellert's disciple could never be exposed—not yet.
It wasn't fear for his own reputation; that was beyond salvation. But the moment the world knew Kai's lineage, the boy would become a lightning rod for malice, manipulation, and possibly assassination.
Worse still… if cornered, Kai Adler had the potential to become the most terrifying Dark Lord the wizarding world had ever seen.
Pacing the office, Dumbledore rubbed his temples, deep in thought.
Suddenly, he froze.
Why was he worrying about this?
If it concerned Gellert, it was Gellert's problem.
With a chuckle, Dumbledore conjured a glowing orb of light, casually tossing it out the shattered window before turning back toward his tea set.
He poured himself a cup, took a sip, grimaced.
Terrible.
The boy still made better tea.
Nurmengard Prison loomed in the night like a mausoleum, devoid of light or sound.
Within the crumbling fortress, hidden among the shadows of its aging walls, sat a bare prison cell. Sparse furniture littered the space. The iron door hung ajar, its lock long since useless.
On the narrow bed, cloaked only in a threadbare robe, sat an elderly man, hands resting neatly on his knees, eyes closed as if lost in thought.
A sphere of silver light whooshed in through the barred window, hovering before him.
The old man's hair had long since turned to silver, wrinkles etched deep across his worn face. Yet the moment his eyes opened, they gleamed with razor-sharp clarity—a gaze capable of making even a hardened youth falter.
The old man studied the glowing orb, sensing the faint pulse of familiar Black Magic.
A strange smile curled his lips.
Though he sat in a cell dressed in rags, when he extended his hand toward the light, there was a grace to the gesture—as though he were at a grand ball, extending his palm for a dance partner with perfect, gentlemanly elegance.
The light seemed to respond, lowering into his outstretched hand.
The old man pressed it gently to his forehead.
The next moment, his smile vanished, replaced by narrowed, calculating eyes.
Boom!
Nurmengard shook violently, the ancient stone walls trembling as though an earthquake had struck.
Within a minute, a dark, oppressive veil of shadow cascaded across the region—a towering shroud of Black Magic blotting out the moon, like a grim curtain falling across the world.
At the same time, alarms blared through the Ministries of Magic in both Austria and Germany. Wizards froze, eyes wide, as the grand clock atop the Ministry's central tower turned blood red.
A signal of the highest-grade magical crisis—one the world had hoped never to witness again.