The safehouse was humming with activity. A low murmur of conversation echoed through the open rooms, punctuated by the occasional clink of equipment being prepared. The air was thick with anticipation—everyone knew that something big was coming.
In the war room, a small group had gathered around a large table, maps, intel reports, and security blueprints spread out in front of them. The dim lighting cast long shadows, highlighting the tension in the room. The team was about to execute a high-risk plan to free a man who had once been the Soviet Union's answer to Captain America—Alexei Shostakov, the Red Guardian.
Natasha Romanoff stood at the head of the table, her arms crossed as she studied the map of Seventh Circle Prison. Her piercing green eyes flicked over every detail, her mind already working through the problem at hand. She was a woman who always had a plan, but today, she had to account for every variable, and she was the only one who seemed entirely calm about it.
Sirius Black, ever the optimist, leaned casually against the wall, arms folded. He was wearing a faint grin, his usual cocky air unshaken. "So, I'm assuming this plan involves lots of explosives, and even more guns?"
"Of course it does," James Potter replied with a grin, his tone light but his eyes scanning the map with intensity. His hair was still disheveled from the early morning, a stark contrast to his usual polished demeanor. He leaned forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the map. "Explosions, distractions, and chaos are the key to pulling this off. But it's not about just blowing stuff up. We need to make sure we time it perfectly."
Bucky Barnes, standing a bit further back with his arms crossed and his jaw set, rolled his eyes. "You two and your chaos. Can't we just stick to the plan, and not set half of Russia on fire?"
Sirius chuckled. "You're no fun, Barnes. Where's your sense of adventure?"
Bucky shot him a look that was almost imperceptible, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable. "It's called not getting caught in a firefight with Hydra and every wizard they have on standby."
Natasha's voice cut through the chatter like a knife. "Bucky's right. We need precision, not a show of fireworks. The goal is to get Alexei out alive, not to burn down the whole place."
James, not missing a beat, raised an eyebrow. "Sure, we'll keep it subtle. Just a few explosions. We'll distract them just long enough to get in, and out, and get back to the safehouse."
"You make it sound so simple," Natasha said dryly, giving him a look. "But we've got to deal with a few things first. Like, oh, I don't know, the prison's magical wards, its security systems, and the fact that Alexei's held in the highest security wing. He's been there long enough that no one knows he's even alive, but getting him out is going to be a nightmare."
"Maybe I should just use my charm," Sirius quipped, smirking at James, who rolled his eyes.
"Charming as always, Padfoot," James said, tapping the map in front of them. "We'll need to work with the intel we have. Shostakov is in the highest security cell, surrounded by layers of magical defenses. I can handle the physical stuff, but we need someone who can bypass the magic."
Sirius glanced up, his usual sarcastic edge softening. "Right. I'm your guy for the wards. You get me in, and I'll handle the rest."
"Not to mention," Natasha added, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied them, "we've got Hydra-allied wizards to deal with. They'll be on high alert once they notice the assault. We can't just waltz in, even with magical abilities. Once we're inside, we'll have twenty minutes, tops."
Bucky raised his hand, interrupting her. "And that's where I come in, right?"
Natasha nodded. "Exactly. You'll be the one on the ground, in the thick of things. Get Alexei, get him to the extraction point. We can't afford to have anyone miss that window."
"Twenty minutes," Bucky repeated, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of running into a prison full of Hydra thugs, but if he had to, he would. It was a mission, and he knew how to stick to the objective.
"We'll also need a diversion," James said, tapping his fingers on the table. "That's where the explosives come in. We can't just show up without drawing attention, so we'll need something big—something to keep them focused on the outside while we work our way in."
"Bigger the bang, the better," Sirius said with a wink.
Natasha gave him a look that was both amused and dead serious. "We don't need that much attention, Potter. Just enough to draw the Hydra wizards out. Once they're distracted, we go in and get Shostakov. We've got about an hour before they realize what's happening, so it's not a lot of time."
Bucky gave a small nod, his arms still crossed. "How do you plan on getting Shostakov out without anyone noticing?"
"Simple," Natasha said, leaning over the table with a sly smile. "I'll handle the stealth, Sirius will keep the Disillusionment charm running, and James will get us out when we need it. The rest of you just need to keep up."
"Sounds like a piece of cake," James said, his grin widening. "Just need to make sure we don't trip the alarms or, you know, blow anything up early."
Natasha shot him a pointed look. "No promises."
Sirius was already thinking ahead. "Once we have Alexei, we need to move fast. I'll keep him covered, but we'll need a clean escape route. Do we have one?"
James tapped the map, pointing to an alleyway that was marked with a few discreet routes. "There's a back exit that goes straight to a remote area. We'll need to keep it clear, and get out before Hydra shows up in full force."
Bucky gave a small chuckle. "Easy enough. Just don't expect me to be the first one to leave the prison."
Sirius grinned. "After all the years of escaping death, you've earned the right to be dramatic, Bucky."
Natasha's expression softened for just a second, then hardened again as she looked at the group. "This is it. We get Alexei, we get out. And then we figure out how to stop Hydra from doing this to anyone else."
James straightened, his eyes meeting hers. "Let's get to work."
—
Mundungus Fletcher was slinking around in the shadows, his mind racing as he watched the street ahead. He wasn't thrilled to be on this particular mission—spying on a mysterious figure like Gideon Adler, who was reportedly a descendant of Gellert Grindelwald, wasn't exactly his idea of a fun day. But, of course, Albus Dumbledore had his reasons. A man with such a lineage, appearing out of nowhere and asking too many questions about Hydra-allied wizards, couldn't be allowed to roam free.
Dumbledore had made it clear: gather intel, but don't get too close. "Keep him under surveillance, Fletcher. Just watch and report back." Of course, that had been a few days ago, and Mundungus had been following Adler around the city like a rat in the walls. The man was a slippery one—always one step ahead, disappearing into alleys just when Mundungus thought he had him cornered.
Tonight was different, though. There was a feeling in the air, something that sent a prickle up his spine. As he crouched behind a stack of crates near a dimly lit tavern, his eyes trained on the door, he saw Adler slip inside, but not in the way Mundungus expected.
Adler, dressed in a simple but well-tailored coat, paused at the door. His sharp eyes scanned the street, as if searching for something—or someone. Mundungus froze. It wasn't just his usual casual glance. Adler knew something was off. A cold sweat beaded on Mundungus' neck. How the hell had Adler seen him?
It didn't make sense. Mundungus was good at this. He'd been sneaking around and pilfering for years, yet here he was, being outmaneuvered by a man who probably spent more time in high society than in the streets.
With an effort, Mundungus steadied his breath. He couldn't afford to blow it now. Pulling his cloak tighter around him, he ducked lower, trying to conceal himself further in the shadows.
But before he could make another move, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind him—soft, deliberate, and too close for comfort. He spun, his heart in his throat, only to be met with a piercing gaze from Adler himself.
"Fletcher," Adler said, his voice calm but laced with an undeniable edge. "You're very good at hiding, but not quite as good as you think."
Mundungus cursed inwardly, his mind racing. How the hell did he know? He had been careful—he had kept his distance, stayed out of sight. But Adler's eyes told a different story. Adler had known he was there the entire time.
Adler's lips curled into a small, knowing smile as he took a step closer. "You should've known better than to follow me for so long, Mundungus. A man like me, with a legacy like mine… well, I have a way of sensing things."
Mundungus, trying to regain his composure, took a half-step back. "I don't know what you're talkin' about," he muttered, fumbling with his coat pocket. "I ain't doin' nothin' but mindin' my own business, mate."
Adler raised an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping him. "I'm sure you are. But you see, when someone like you is spying on someone like me, it tends to be… a little more obvious than you might think. People like you—cautious, sneaky, paranoid—they leave little trails. And you've been leaving them all over the place."
Mundungus' hand tensed around his wand, but he didn't dare draw it. He had no idea what Adler was capable of. The man was a descendant of Grindelwald, after all. Just the thought made Mundungus' heart race faster.
"What do you want?" Mundungus spat, his tone wavering between defiance and desperation.
"What do I want?" Adler repeated, his smile widening. "I want to know why Dumbledore is sending his little rat to follow me. I want to know what kind of game the old man is playing, and I want you to tell me."
Mundungus' blood ran cold. Adler knew he was working for Dumbledore. That was a problem.
"Now, I'm not in the mood to play games with you, Fletcher," Adler continued, his voice now carrying an unsettling calmness. "You can either answer my questions, or I can make you answer them."
Mundungus' hand twitched again, this time grabbing his wand, but Adler was faster. The air seemed to thicken with an almost tangible weight as Adler flicked his wrist. Mundungus felt his arm go numb, the wand slipping from his fingers and clattering to the ground.
Adler moved with a fluid grace, his movements precise and almost hypnotic. "I'm not a fool. I know what you're after. And I know exactly who you're working for. Dumbledore's games, his endless schemes… I've seen it all before."
Mundungus gulped, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. He was in over his head. Adler wasn't just some descendant of Grindelwald—he was dangerous, calculating, and far more aware than he had ever imagined.
"Why are you here?" Mundungus asked, his voice shaking, though he tried to make it sound casual. "What's all this about Hydra, then? Wizards and their little alliances?"
Adler's eyes flickered with amusement, a trace of something darker lurking beneath the surface. "Hydra is just a pawn in a much larger game, Fletcher. And if you're going to spy on me, you'd better know who you're dealing with. But that's the problem with people like you, isn't it? You think you're clever enough to get the jump on someone, but you're not. Now, if you want to live to see another day, you'll do exactly what I tell you."
Mundungus swallowed hard, his mind racing as Adler's presence seemed to crush him from all sides. He'd never been in a situation like this before. But then again, this wasn't any ordinary man standing before him.
"Fine," Mundungus muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you want me to do?"
Adler's smile grew colder. "For now? You're going to leave me be. And you're going to tell Dumbledore that if he wants to keep playing his games, I'll play along. But I'm no one's pawn."
With a flick of his wrist, the paralysis on Mundungus' arm eased, and he was able to move again—though he felt more like a rat backed into a corner than a man with options.
Adler turned away, the streetlights casting a long shadow across his back as he started to walk towards the tavern door. "Tell Dumbledore that if he's interested in playing chess, he should come directly. Until then, don't follow me again."
Mundungus didn't move at first, still trying to process what had just happened. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion, but one thing was certain: Gideon Adler was not a simple mark. And Dumbledore might have just gotten himself tangled in something far more dangerous than he realized.
As Adler disappeared into the tavern, Mundungus sighed, a bead of sweat running down his temple. He was out of his depth, and it seemed the games Dumbledore had started were far from over.
—
Mundungus Fletcher stumbled into the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, his face pale and his usual air of greasy confidence shaken. He clutched the brim of his patched hat nervously as his eyes darted around the office. He hated being here. The various trinkets and magical artifacts that lined Dumbledore's shelves seemed to hum with an almost judgmental energy. Fawkes, perched on his golden stand, gave Mundungus a side-eye that made him flinch.
Dumbledore, sitting serenely behind his desk, folded his hands together and offered his most grandfatherly smile. The twinkle in his eyes seemed almost calculated.
"Ah, Mundungus," Dumbledore said, his voice a melodic lilt. "Do come in. I trust your little expedition bore fruit?"
Mundungus licked his lips nervously. "Depends on what you call fruit, Professor," he muttered. "Your man Adler… he ain't what you'd call a simple target."
Dumbledore leaned back slightly, stroking his beard in a way that suggested he was savoring the moment. "My dear Mundungus, I would never assign a task of simplicity to one such as yourself. I have always seen potential in you, even if the world may not." He paused for dramatic effect, as if waiting for Mundungus to bask in the compliment.
Mundungus shifted uncomfortably. "Right, well, potential or no, Adler spotted me. Got the drop on me, matter of fact."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Did he, now? Intriguing. And what did Mr. Adler have to say for himself?"
Mundungus hesitated, fiddling with the brim of his hat. "Said I should pass along a message to you. Somethin' about chess and pawns. Said he's not playin' anyone's game but his own, but if you wanted a match, you'd best come direct."
The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes grew brighter, as if this confirmed some grand theory only he was clever enough to comprehend. "Fascinating," he murmured, his tone carrying the air of a man who believed himself to be the smartest person in any room. "It would seem Mr. Adler wishes to position himself as my equal in this intricate dance we call destiny."
Mundungus frowned. "Er… sure, if you wanna put it that way. All I know is, he ain't no ordinary wizard. He had me frozen stiff with a flick of his wrist, and I'm not exactly a stranger to dodgy situations, if you catch my meanin'."
Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively. "Gideon Adler's talents are to be expected. He is, after all, a Grindelwald by blood, even if he claims to be but a humble descendant. Power often runs deep in such lineages, though it is not the power itself that concerns me, but how it is wielded."
Mundungus opened his mouth to reply, but Dumbledore cut him off, his tone growing loftier. "You see, Mundungus, I have long understood the burden of playing the long game. Pieces on the board must be carefully maneuvered, each one serving a purpose far beyond its initial role. I daresay Adler underestimates the subtleties of my strategy."
Mundungus blinked. "Right. So… what're you gonna do about him?"
Dumbledore stood, his robes billowing slightly as he moved to the window, gazing out over the Hogwarts grounds as if contemplating the cosmos itself. "Adler has challenged me, albeit indirectly. Such a move suggests both confidence and caution—a dangerous combination. However, he forgets that I am no ordinary opponent. The threads of fate have long been my tapestry, and I have woven many a victory from the most tangled of threads."
Mundungus shuffled awkwardly. "So… you're not worried, then?"
"Worried?" Dumbledore turned back to Mundungus, his expression serene but undeniably self-assured. "My dear Mundungus, worry is for those who lack vision. I do not merely react to events; I shape them. Gideon Adler may consider himself a player, but in truth, he is already a piece upon my board."
Mundungus raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Well, good luck with that, then. 'Cause Adler don't strike me as the type to sit around waitin' to be played."
Dumbledore smiled indulgently, as if humoring a child. "Your concern is noted, my friend. And yet, history has shown that even the most formidable of adversaries cannot escape the gravity of their own destiny. Now, return to your post. Keep an ear to the ground, and should Mr. Adler make another move, inform me at once."
Mundungus sighed, recognizing the dismissal when he heard it. He tipped his hat and shuffled toward the door, muttering under his breath, "Bloody grandstanding peacock."
As the door closed behind him, Dumbledore returned to his seat, steepling his fingers as he stared into the middle distance. Fawkes let out a low trill, almost as if he were questioning his master's confidence.
"Fear not, old friend," Dumbledore said softly, his voice carrying the weight of certainty. "Gideon Adler may believe himself to be a storm, but I… I am the mountain."
—
Later in the day, the bustling energy of the safehouse had subsided, and Lily was sitting on the couch with a book in hand, though her attention often drifted away from the pages. The day's concerns weighed heavily on her, and though she was trying to relax, her mind kept circling back to Harry.
Rose Potter, ever observant for a six-year-old, chose this quieter moment to climb up beside her mother. She had her favorite stuffed unicorn, Mr. Prickles, tucked under her arm and a look of determined curiosity on her face.
"Mum," Rose began, her small voice cutting through the silence.
Lily set the book down, her focus immediately shifting to her daughter. "What is it, love?"
Rose squirmed a little, clutching Mr. Prickles tighter. "I heard you talking to Nat earlier. About Harry."
Lily blinked, caught off guard. "You were eavesdropping?" she asked, her tone lightly scolding but not harsh.
Rose's cheeks flushed pink. "Not on purpose! I was just… there. By accident. But I heard you say Harry didn't come to see us because he's busy being a hero."
Lily sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Rose, it's a bit more complicated than that."
"But why didn't he come?" Rose pressed, her small face scrunched with genuine confusion. "Doesn't he know we miss him?"
Lily's heart ached at the question. She reached out, pulling Rose into her lap. "Of course, he knows. Harry loves us, sweetheart. More than anything."
"Then why doesn't he visit?" Rose asked, her voice quivering slightly. "Does he think we don't need him anymore?"
Lily hugged her daughter tightly, stroking her soft hair. "Oh, Rose. It's not that at all. Harry thinks he needs to protect us by staying away. He's facing a lot of big, scary things, and he doesn't want us to get hurt."
Rose pulled back just enough to look up at her mother, her big green eyes filled with determination. "But he's my big brother. I'm not scared of scary things if he's here."
Lily chuckled softly, her chest tightening with emotion. "I know, darling. I feel the same way. But Harry… he sometimes forgets that we're stronger together. That it's okay to lean on the people who love him."
Rose nodded solemnly, her little hand clutching at Lily's sleeve. "Then we have to remind him."
Lily smiled at the fierce resolve in her daughter's voice, so reminiscent of both Harry and James. "You're absolutely right, Rose. We do."
Rose's brow furrowed in thought. "Next time he comes, I'm gonna tell him. I'm gonna say, 'Harry James Potter, you need to come home more because we're your family, and families stick together!'"
Lily laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "That's perfect, Rose. I think he'll listen to you."
Rose grinned, satisfied with her plan. She snuggled closer to her mother, clutching Mr. Prickles like a tiny knight preparing for battle. "He better," she mumbled sleepily. "Or I'll tell Dad to prank him."
Lily kissed the top of her daughter's head, her heart feeling a little lighter. "I think that's a great idea, love."
As Rose drifted off to sleep in her arms, Lily found herself feeling a renewed sense of determination. Harry might be a hero to the world, but to his family, he was still just Harry—a son, a brother, and someone who needed to remember that he wasn't alone.
And when he finally returned, they would make sure he never forgot it.
—
The Hog's Head was its usual mix of smoke, stale beer, and a faint but ever-present smell of goats. Aberforth Dumbledore, seated in his favorite corner with a pint in hand, barely glanced up as Alastor Moody clomped into the dimly lit room. Moody's wooden leg thumped loudly against the uneven floorboards, his magical eye spinning furiously as he scanned the room out of habit.
"Alastor," came a calm, measured voice from a corner table. Albus Dumbledore sat there, a glass of mead untouched before him, his twinkling eyes partially obscured by his half-moon glasses.
Moody grunted. "Albus. What do you want?"
Aberforth snorted from his corner, muttering, "Finally, someone asks the right bloody question."
Albus's lips twitched, but he didn't rise to his brother's bait. "I understand you had an interesting meeting last night," he said, gesturing for Moody to join him. "With a man named Gideon Adler."
Moody's real eye narrowed as he approached the table but didn't sit. "Let me guess. Mundungus Fletcher was lurking about and couldn't keep his trap shut."
"Dung's many things, but discreet isn't one of them," Aberforth remarked, taking a swig from his pint.
Albus ignored the comment, focusing on Moody. "This Adler... I'd like to know more about him. Specifically, why he sought you out."
Moody's lips twisted into a sneer. "Of course, you would. Merlin forbid someone in the magical world does something without your knowing."
Aberforth chuckled darkly. "He's got you there, Albus."
The elder Dumbledore turned a reproachful glance toward his brother before looking back at Moody. "Alastor, you know I only wish to ensure—"
"Don't," Moody cut him off sharply. "Don't give me the 'greater good' spiel, Albus. I've had enough of your 'ensuring' to last a lifetime. You think you can poke your long nose into every corner of the world because you've decided it's your responsibility. Well, newsflash, you're not the omnipotent, all-knowing savior you like to think you are."
Aberforth nearly choked on his drink, laughing. "By Merlin's beard, Alastor, I might just give you free drinks for life for that one."
Albus sighed, but his expression remained patient. "I simply believe we must tread carefully where men like Adler are concerned. His lineage—"
"His lineage," Moody interrupted again, "is his business. Not yours. The man didn't ask for your approval, Albus. He came to me because he sees the Ministry for what it is—useless in a real crisis. And he doesn't trust you, which, frankly, makes him smarter than most."
Aberforth raised his pint in mock salute. "Hear, hear."
Albus's serene mask cracked slightly, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. "I have never claimed to be infallible, Alastor."
"No, but you act like you are," Moody retorted. "You think you can manipulate people, pull strings, and 'guide' them to your vision of what's right. But you don't like it when people make their own bloody choices, do you?"
Aberforth leaned back, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Go on, Alastor. Don't stop now."
Albus opened his mouth to respond, but Moody barrelled on. "You've got secrets, Albus. Plenty of them. And maybe you've got your reasons, but don't you dare come sniffing around me about Adler when you've got skeletons rattling louder than a banshee."
The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Aberforth broke it with a slow clap. "Well said, Moody. Someone had to tell him."
Albus's gaze softened as he regarded his brother. "Aberforth, this isn't about—"
"It is, though," Aberforth snapped, setting his glass down with a thud. "You've spent your whole life meddling, Albus. And look where it's gotten us. Ariana's dead. Gellert ran rampant. And now this Adler fella's got a bloody point—Hydra's lurking about, and you're too busy trying to play chess with people's lives to see it."
Albus flinched at the mention of Ariana, his composure finally breaking. "Aberforth—"
"No," Aberforth interrupted, his voice hard. "We both know who cast the curse that killed her, Albus. And it wasn't Gellert. So maybe, just maybe, you don't get to lecture anyone about responsibility."
Moody's magical eye fixed on Albus, his expression unreadable. "You want to know about Adler? Fine. He's smart, resourceful, and determined. He's not afraid to do what's necessary to stop Hydra. And right now, I trust him more than I trust you."
With that, Moody turned and stomped toward the bar. "Aberforth, another firewhisky."
"Coming right up," Aberforth said cheerfully, casting a triumphant look at his older brother.
Albus sat alone at the table, the weight of his brother's words—and his own past—pressing heavily upon him.
—
Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, bathed in the soft golden glow of the candles and the faint ticking of the enchanted instruments that lined the walls. The room, as usual, felt like an extension of his own persona: grand, mysterious, and just slightly overwhelming. Fawkes, perched on his golden stand, tilted his head, letting out a low, contemplative trill.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. The message passed on by Mundungus Fletcher replayed in his mind like a persistent melody.
"Somethin' about chess and pawns. Said he's not playin' anyone's game but his own, but if you wanted a match, you'd best come direct."
He frowned slightly, the corners of his mouth turning downward in a rare show of displeasure. Chess and pawns—how often had others accused him of seeing the world as a chessboard, moving pieces at his whim? Moody's biting words echoed in his ears.
"You think you can manipulate people, pull strings, and 'guide' them to your vision of what's right. But you don't like it when people make their own bloody choices, do you?"
And Aberforth's voice, sharper and more personal, cut even deeper.
"We both know who cast the curse that killed her, Albus. And it wasn't Gellert."
Dumbledore sighed, his hand absently stroking his long, silver beard. It was true, wasn't it? He'd become something of a legend in his own mind—a man others saw as the omnipotent architect of wizarding destiny. And perhaps, in some ways, he had started to believe it himself.
But Gideon Adler. The man was a puzzle. Albus didn't like puzzles he hadn't orchestrated himself.
His fingers tapped lightly on the edge of his desk. Adler's refusal to play by anyone's rules intrigued him. The man claimed to be outside the great games of power—neither a piece on the board nor the hand that moved them. If Mundungus's recounting was accurate (and admittedly, that was always a gamble), Adler was extending a challenge.
"Come direct."
A faint smile touched Dumbledore's lips. He could appreciate a man who wasn't afraid to speak in riddles. It reminded him, ironically, of himself in his younger years—before the weight of Ariana's death, before Grindelwald, before the years of carefully curated wisdom.
But Adler's lineage was no small matter. Gellert Grindelwald's name still carried a shadow darker than most dared speak of, and while Dumbledore had long claimed to keep no grudges, the sting of betrayal—personal and philosophical—remained.
Was Adler dangerous? Certainly. But danger had always intrigued Albus, hadn't it? That's what had drawn him to Gellert all those years ago. And yet, he couldn't afford to let history repeat itself.
His mind shifted back to Moody's assessment. "Smart, resourceful, and determined. He's not afraid to do what's necessary." That made Adler both a potential ally and a potential threat. Alastor trusted him—grudgingly, yes, but Alastor Moody didn't extend even grudging trust lightly.
Still, Dumbledore thought with a twinge of arrogance he didn't entirely suppress, Moody's judgment had its limits. Alastor's cynicism often blinded him to the grander picture, the delicate balance of light and dark that only Dumbledore, with his unique wisdom, could truly navigate.
He glanced at Fawkes, who blinked serenely back at him. "What do you think, my old friend?" he murmured. "Is it time to meet this man who claims not to play the game?"
Fawkes tilted his head and let out a soft cry, the sound neither encouraging nor discouraging.
Dumbledore rose from his chair, the hem of his robes brushing against the floor as he moved to the window. London's lights twinkled faintly in the distance, obscured by a thin veil of mist.
"Yes," he said finally, his voice decisive. "I believe I shall meet him. After all, a game of chess is best understood when one sees the player, not just the pieces."
He turned back to his desk, reaching for a piece of parchment and his quill. He would send Adler an owl, proposing a meeting. It was time to see the man behind the enigmatic words.
As he wrote, a small part of him wondered—was he still the master of the board? Or had he, somewhere along the way, become a piece himself, moved by forces he no longer fully understood?
But Dumbledore brushed the thought aside. Such doubts were unbecoming of a man like him, weren't they? Surely, if anyone could untangle the truth of Adler's intentions, it was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s
Thank you for your support!