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Albus Dumbledore led Newt Scamander through the doors of Hogwarts, the niffler the professor had invited for tea padding alongside them. Every stone, every nook and cranny, brought Newt back to his school days. His books, his rescued creatures… and Leta. Newt tried to swat away his memories of her, for it brought too much pain than could be dealt with at the moment.
“It’s good to be back,” Newt said, gazing at everything that was so familiar to him. He noted the wood engravings on the door he used to trace as he passed the halls, and the moving staircases he would stumble upon on his way to class.
“You could teach here, you know. Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher is thinking of retiring.” Newt raised his eyebrows in a moment of consideration.
“I don’t know about that.”
“Too much of a desk job, then?” Dumbledore had remembered Newt’s boggart, apparently. Newt laughed.
“No, not that. I’m just not great with… human children.” Dumbledore chuckled, bowing his head to laugh.
“That’s alright, then. Surely, you’ll let us use your book in class?” Newt and Dumbledore began the climb up the stairs to the third floor. The portraits they passed gave Newt a panging sense of nostalgia.
“My book?”
“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. An interesting read, and fantastic textbook material.” Newt’s eyes widened.
“Yes, that would be excellent. I would be honored. Thank you.”
The two finally reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Newt walked in first, immediately finding his old desk and tracing his fingers along it. He lifted the top. Among countless initials and hearts, a little bowtruckle lay carved in the corner. Newt smiled at it for a moment before glancing at Picket, secured in his coat pocket.
“Up here,” Dumbledore said, making his way up the stairs into his private office. Newt followed and shut the door behind him.
Around the room were all sorts of curious magical instruments. Most notable, however, was a shallow metal bowl floating a few centimeters above the wooden desk. Approaching it, Dumbledore stared into its eerily glowing contents.
“That’s a Pensieve,” Newt exclaimed, surprised that Dumbledore had been able to come in contact with such an object.
“Yes, it is. Headmaster Dippet has allowed me to use it on occasion.” Dumbledore gazed at it for a moment before turning back to Newt.
“Would you like that tea I promised?” Dumbledore asked pleasantly.
“Yes, thank you,” Newt said, turning to pick up the niffler, who had already begun snatching various trinkets.
A kettle was already set on a nearby shelf, still heated by magic. Dumbledore poured three cups, placing one gently in front of the niffler, who Newt had set down on the desk, pushing objects out of the way.
“We need to destroy the blood pact, sir. You’re the only one who can help us defeat Grindelwald.”
Dumbledore pulled said pact out of his pocket and swung it like a pendulum. Back and forth, back and forth. He took a long sip of his tea, and put the empty cup back on a shelf with other china.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, because of the pact.” Newt sea his hardly touched tea down and gestured to the still-swinging pendant. “You swore not to fight each other. Which is why we need to destroy it.” Dumbledore let out a laugh under his breath and scooped up the silver object, secring it in his left palm. He stared at it for a moment, and gave it the briefest of smiles.
“That’s not… everything.” Dumbledore said as he shoved the silver pendant back into his pocket and stared at Newt.
“Oh?” Newt said, somewhat distractedly. The niffler was attempting to steal his teacup’s handle, which was decorated with golden swirls. Newt sighed and picked him up, placing him in his right pocket. The niffler’s nose and eyes peeked out from the navy fabric.
Dumbledore paced over to the Pensieve and its mysterious waters. Newt squeezed past the table, brushing his back against the cold stone wall, and stepped to face the professor.
Dumbledore gripped the desk’s edges and looked up at Newt with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Have you ever used one of these before?” he asked, referring to the Pensieve.
“No, sir.”
Dumbledore nodded and took his wand from his desk and pointed it at his temple.
“Professor, I’m not sure I--” Newt closed his mouth as he saw a shining silver substance escape Dumbledore’s head.
With a swift motion of his wand, the extracted substance fell gracefully into the Pensieve. The liquid glowed brighter inside, and vague images flitted across the surface. Newt held back a small gasp.
“Put your face just above the water,” Dumbledore instructed. Newt looked at him questioningly.
“I’m sorry?” said Newt, but Dumbledore didn’t say anything more. He simply gestured to the Pensieve again. Newt gave in and held his breath, dipping his head past the surface of the water.
---
Newt felt as if he was falling. It was like he had come across a rather improper Portkey and had to descend from the sky to the ground. Within moments, he found himself tickled by sharp, slightly dewy grass. He groaned and sat up. The world felt hazy somehow, like it was some kind of dream.
Across the way, a young man sat under a tree, reading a large book. He turned an old, yellowed page lazily.
Another boy popped out from behind the tree, startling the young man. “Reading again, Albus?” the new boy said, who couldn’t have been much older than the boy he called Albus.
Dumbledore, Newt realized. The boy reading under the tree was a much younger version of Dumbledore. Newt fought to hold in his surprise, and instead creeped closer to hear more of the conversation.
Albus huffed and shut his book, gently placing it beside him on a tree root, haphazardly perched above the wet grass. “What do you want, Gellert?”
Newt glanced up at the standing boy now. He could see a slight resemblance between him and the dark wizard Grindelwald. His eyes were eerily off-putting to Newt -- one was a different color, he realized -- but young Albus did not seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to stare into them a moment longer than he needed to.
“You,” was all Grindelwald said, holding out his hand for Albus to take. He did, and rose with his companion. Albus gave Grindelwald a sly grin as they walked off together.
“I’ve been researching something for a while now, and I’d like you to tell you about it,” Grindelwald began. Newt realized they were walking away from him, so he quickly went after the two, careful to not be seen.
“You can tell me anything,” Albus smiled.
“I trust you’ve heard of the Deathly Hallows?”
Albus’s eyes widened in curiosity. “Of course. The Tale of the Three Brothers. But that’s a childrens’ tale, Gellert. What of it?”
“I’ve spent countless hours trying to understand the truth behind it. And I’m sure I’m this close to finding the location of the Elder Wand.”
Albus stopped in his tracks and spun to the side, taking Grindelwald with him by firmly gripping his right arm. “You can’t be serious,” he said.
“Oh but I am.” Grindelwald lifted Albus’s hand off of his arm, and gently pushed a lock of hair behind Albus’s ear. “We could be so powerful, together. We’re the most brilliant wizards of our generation. We could rule the world, Albus. Side by side.”
An expression crossed over Albus’s face that Newt had not seen before in the Dumbledore he knew. It was a kind of greed, a desire, maybe. A desire for power.
Albus intertwined his hands with Grindelwald’s and spread his arms out so Grindelwald was forced to lean in closer. He too had the same smile on his lips. Their faces were so close together, Newt felt it too private a moment for him to witness.
Evidently, he was right. Grindelwald cupped the back of Albus's neck in his hand, still holding Albus’s left palm tightly. Grindelwald pulled Albus just that much closer until their lips touched.
Newt gasped in shock and was vaguely aware of his physical self pulling his face away from the Pensieve and back into Dumbledore’s office.
---
“Professor, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have seen--” Dumbledore put up a hand and smiled.
“It is alright. I assume you understand now why I am unable to fully eliminate him from my life?”
“Yes, sir, of course. But what of Credence? He’s too powerful--”
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “That is yet another thing I hope the Pensieve may be able to assist with.” Dumbledore withdrew another memory from his mind and swept it into the Pensieve’s swirling waters.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to invade your privacy.”
Dumbledore only smiled again. “This is necessary for you to understand. I trust very few others.” Dumblefore’s face was warm and gentle, unlike the darker expressions of his younger self. Newt nodded, and dove into the Pensieve once more.
---
The next memories were hazy and dark. Black smoke formed the scenes, and Newt no longer felt as if he were really there. He was now only looking upon them from a distance.
The voices sounded muffled, like Newt was hearing them through a wall. He watched, like a ghost, never allowed to interfere, but always there.
---
Albus was alone at a desk. It faced a window, revealing a dark and starry night. Albus was writing, his quill perfectly poised. His work was lit only by a single candle, its wax dripping into the small metal circle it was on.
The parchment he worked on was already inscribed with inked words. Newt could see that it was a letter. A letter to Gellert Grindelwald.
“Gellert,” it began. “Your point about Wizard dominance being for the Muggles’ own good - this, I think is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibility over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control for the greater good. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang!”
Albus paused, his quill tip hovering over the exclamation’s point. He shed a small smile, thinking of things beyond Newt’s knowledge. “But I do not complain,” Albus continued, “because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)” Albus Dumbledore signed off his letter in a peculiar way. The A of his name was replaced by a symbol. A symbol Newt knew well from years of legend. The Deathly Hallows.
The scene faded away.
---
The black smoke changed, now. It blew away the vision of the desk and the room and the candle, and in its place, came Albus again, standing alone in the pouring rain. It must have been terribly unpleasant, but Albus was smiling widely, and he did not stop until another figure emerged from the ally.
It was Gellert. He had what appeared to be a wand in his right hand. As he got closer, Newt realized in a flash what it was. A wand, yes, as his previous assumption had decided, but it was the fabled Elder Wand. The one Newt recognized Grindelwald having been in possession of during the rally in France.
Gellert nearly crashed into Albus when he reached him. Giving only the slightest bit of space between them, he showcased the wand. Albus stood in awe and excitement.
“It will be soon now,” Gellert murmured in Albus’s ear. “We have the wand. Once we have all three, we can create the perfect utopia.”
Albus grinned and plucked the wand gently out of Gellert’s hands. He admired it, tip to end, breathing in its wooded scent. “A world without fear of Muggles, can you imagine it, Gell? They’ll submit to our every will; we won’t have to hide anymore.”
“Only two more to go.”
The boys shot wicked smirks at each other. The gripped the Elder Wand tightly. Albus with his left hand and Gellert with his right. Together, they raised the wand into the air and shouted “Lumos Maxima!”
A beam of light escaped from the wand’s tip, rocketing into the night. It was so bright, and it filled the whole sky with light. False daylight was present for several seconds before it slowly faded away. Any Muggles or ignorant wizards present would convince themselves that it was a freak show of lightning, as the thunder and rain were still heavily present.
Albus and Gellert knew it was not a natural wonder, though. Newt got the sense that this, here, was the start of everything he and his companions would be fighting in the time to come. It sent a chill down his spine as the black smoke once again stole the memory away.
---
Albus was lying down on a bed, half asleep by the look of him, and Gellert was perched directly above him. Their noses were pressed hard against each other’s. Newt blushed, he couldn’t believe Dumbledore was allowing him to see such an intimate moment.
“Good morning,” Gellert said, his voice laced with desire. Albus awoke, a grin breaking his face.
Albus turned his head just so, allowing a kiss. In Gellert’s weakened state, Albus took the liberty to do a kind of roll, letting himself take the top. The sheets were tossed and disrupted in the motion.
“Good morning, Gell,” said Albus, grinning downwards. “I was lonely last night,” he admitted. “Why didn’t you come?”
“I’ve come this morning, though, haven’t I?” Gellert said. “Besides, I don’t think my aunt would like that very much.”
“And I don’t very well think she’d notice.” Albus ran kisses down Gellert’s neck, making the other boy smile with delight.
“You’re right. Perhaps I’ll come tonight.”
“A wise decision, that,” said Albus. He gracefully slid his fingers to the top of Gellert’s shirt, a simple button-down. With nimble fingers, he slowly undid the buttons from their cloth slits.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Gellert playfully asked. He clearly didn’t mind much.
Albus planted another kiss on the higher side of Gellert’s chest. He had already successfully undone four buttons. “Loving you,” he said.
“That’s alright, then,” said Gellert. “I’ll let you love me for as long as you need.” Gellert tangled his fingers in Albus’s already atrocious bed head. He pulled the boy’s face closer and whispered. “You can love me forever.”
One last kiss was shared, causing the memory to collapse in darkness again.
---
The scene changed again. This time, a boy, much older than Albus, stood in a dark field. Several meters away from the older boy was Albus. He was holding tightly onto Gellert’s hand, as if clinging on to the last bit of life he had. In the other, he held his own wand. Gellert had the Elder Wand. Newt noticed a shining silver object around Albus’s neck. The blood pact, Newt realized.
Almost invisible in the clearing, in the middle of what appeared to be the beginnings of a fight, was a girl. She was lovely, with long, brown hair. She looked afraid, as if she might snap at any moment. Newt had seen that expression before. It reminded him of Credence.
“Aberforth, you don’t understand!” Newt heard Albus say.
“What you’re talking of isn’t right, brother! Taking control of the Muggle world, forcing people to submit in fear… it’s all wrong, you’re wrong!”
“Don’t you dare speak to him like that!” Gellert shouted to Aberforth. In a fit of rage, he tightened his grip on the Elder Wand and pointed it to Albus’s brother.
“Crucio!” Gellert cast. Newt gasped, appalled that he would use an Unforgivable Curse, and this one no less. But then he remembered, this was Grindelwald here. A more youthful version of him, but a dark wizard all the same. Aberforth exclaimed in pain and doubled over. Albus gasped and unlocked his hand from Gellert’s. He ran to his brother.
Tears filled Albus’s eyes. He turned around at lightning speed and pointed his wand at Gellert.
“Expelliarmus!” said Albus. Gellert was knocked to the ground, and the Elder Wand was cast aside. This allowed Aberforth to rise — somewhat shakily — to his feet, with a newfound hatred for Gellert in his eyes.
Albus shoulders heaved. He was breathing heavily, likely infuriated at his brother for criticizing his and Gellert’s fantasies, but he was now enraged at Gellert too, for daring to harm Aberforth. It was a paradox, admittedly, but Albus wasn’t sure who to trust anymore. He ran to the side, across from the girl, who was still shivering in fear and pain.
The wizards began a three-way duel. Sparks of red and green flew in every direction. The light was almost blinding. Newt heard a flew of spells, some so dark he dared believe someone would actually try to perform it.
The duel went on for a long time, but ended with one spell cast. It was impossible to tell whose curse it was. So many sparks were flying every which way that tracing a spell to its original caster would have been an intricate task. Nevertheless, a curse flew by, and instead of hitting one of the dueling wizards, it went to the girl who was standing, watching.
The girl screamed. It was a blood-curdling scream, rocking Newt to his very soul. From her, a large darkness erupted. It contracted and expanded. Newt knew immediately what it was. Ariana had an obscurus locked inside her, and her death had set it free. The wind picked up, blowing hair in every direction. Albus, Gellert, and Aberforth looked upon the girl.
“Ariana, no!” Albus shouted, but his voice was carried away in the wind. He rushed to the girl, clinging to her fallen corpse, crying. The obscurus flicked around madly. It was trying to find a host, Newt knew. But the boys were too old, and Ariana was dead now.
The obscurus appeared to be making a decision. Aberforth made his decision too. He ran into the forest as fast as it seemed he could. Only Albus and Gellert remained. They stared at each other past the obscurus, full of fear and remorse.
The obscurus ended its moment of peace and flew straight at Albus, who screamed. Gellert shouted too. He ran full speed to his lover, and Newt held his breath. Had the obscurus taken Dumbledore as its host? That could not be possible, for Albus must have been at least 18 at the time. An obscurus knew it would not thrive well in a body so aged, and it seemed to be attacking him.
Gellert was by his side now, and Newt could see that the obscurus was not attacking Albus, but trying to infect the blood pact around his neck. Gellert noticed this and immediately pulled the necklace string over Albus’s head. He tossed it to the side. The obscurus was now moving inside the blood pact.
“Get away from me!” yelled Albus, pushing Gellert to the side. He was weak from the duel, so Gellert pushed back to his side almost instantly. “You killed her!”
“I didn’t mean to! She was in the way of our duel, it isn’t my fault!”
“You were the one throwing curses around like mad!”
“You were doing the same!” Gellert insisted.
Albus sneered. “At least I bloody tried to aim.” Gellert narrowed his eyes, and then turned his attention to the swirling black mass, which seemed to pose a bigger problem at the moment.
“What is that thing?” he asked.
“I don’t know!” Albus was afraid, it was plain to see. They both were. Now they had no choice but to gaze at the pact they had created, now harboring the obscurus that had plagued Ariana for so long. Newt realized what it was doing too late. It rose from the pendant, already growing and changing.
It had taken life and power from the blood and magic inside the pact. It no longer needed a host. It was its own obscurial.
Finally, the wind from before subsided. The boys dared to open their eyes, which had been closed tightly for some time now. In front of them was a baby, an actual child. It was wrapped in a dark cloth, the baby’s small fists attempting to penetrate the fabric. Albus stood shakily, but made the bold decision to take Gellert’s hand and hold it close. They crept toward the child together and stared.
“What happened?” Gellert asked. Albus only shook his head and bent over to pick up the baby. Its whining stopped when it saw Albus’s face.
“I don’t know,” Albus murmured. He pulled the cloth back to see more of the baby’s face. “Hello,” he whispered.
“Albus, that’s your sister’s obscurus,” Gellert’s voice was alarmed, which it had the right to be. “It gave itself a body.”
“I know,” Albus whispered. “But it’s a child, Gellert. What do you expect me to do?”
“Kill it,” hissed Gellert. Albus appeared taken aback.
“No.” He held the baby closer. “You can’t just kill a child! Besides, don’t you see? He’s ours. The obscurial took life from our blood.” Albus glanced warily at the blood pact, so Gellert went to scoop it up. He shoved it into his pocket. “We can’t just kill it.”
Tears began to well in Albus’s eyes. “Someone killed my sister,” he said. “I don’t know if it was me or you or Aberforth, but she’s gone now, and this is all I have left.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Gellert pushed a stray lock of hair away from Albus’s face. He gently swiped his thumb on Albus’s cheek to wipe away the tears that had run down to his chin. “It’ll be fine.” Gellert put his spare hand -- the other still gripping the Elder Wand, while Albus’s had been long cast away -- gently on the baby’s chest. “But we can’t keep him. We have to give him to someone who will raise him right.”
“We can leave him on a doorstep. That way someone will have to take him in,” Albus reasoned.
“Yeah, okay. Here...” Gellert said, holding his arms out to take the baby. Albus paused, and held him back instead.
“He needs a name, though. Doesn’t he?” Albus said, while Gellert rolled his eyes.
“You can’t go giving him a name. You’ll get attached!”
“We’re giving him away! He must at least have some idea of who he is.” Albus insisted. “Then maybe we can find him again… you know, when he’s all grown up.”
Gellert groaned, but agreed.
“Aurelius, I think,” decided Albus. “Aurelius Dumbledore.”
Gellert scoffed. “You just pulled the name Aurelius out your arse, then, did you?” Albus glared at him, still holding the baby close to his chest. “And why’s he got your last name?” Gellert insisted.
“Because you were expelled from Durmstrang. The name’s tainted.”
“Fine.”
“And I did not just pull it out of my arse. Marcus Aurelius. The philosopher. I used to study his work.”
“Aurelius Dumbledore it is then,” said Gellert, giving in. “Now we have to give him up, before it's too late.”
Albus nodded, and the memory dissolved in black smoke.
---
Newt pulled himself out of the Pensieve and gaped at Dumbledore. “Are you saying… that... that Aurelius Dumbledore...”
“Is Credence Barebone,” Dumbledore explained patiently. He began to pace again, until turning to his window that overlooked the grounds of Hogwarts. “I suspected a while ago. It all adds up, you see.” Newt had now joined him by the windowsill. “Gellert and I had our… falling out in the summer of 1899. Credence travelled to America in 1901. The woman we ended up giving him to travelled there the same year.” Dumbledore turned to Newt. “Of course, he was swapped with young Corvus Lestrange, who ended up, as you know--”
“Drowned,” finished Newt. Dumbledore nodded with a sympathetic smile for the deceased Lestrange boy.
“Exactly. Now what I hoped you noticed from the memory is that Credence is not an obscurial, as we had thought. He’s far too old to have had even a hope of surviving with an obscurus inside him. He also somehow survived what should have been a fatal blast from the MACUSA aurors. Credence is an obscurus himself.”
Newt pondered this for a moment more. “And you can’t kill an obscurus.” Newt would know. He never tried to hurt a creature in the past, but the obscurus he harbored in his case had killed a child, and would do no good to anyone, ever. He had no success in destroying it, though.
“No, my dear boy, you cannot.” Dumbledore held up the blood pact. “And since Credence was created from the magic of the blood pact, destroying it--”
“Would kill Credence,” Newt said solemnly.
“So you see our problem. But I trust you will do the right thing, Newt.”
“I’ll do my best, professor.”
“Good.” Dumbledore smiled. “Now, I expect your friends will be waiting for us, won’t they?” Newt nodded, and Dumbledore began to head out the door. Newt paused for another moment, and stopped Dumbledore before he exited the door.
“Sir?”
Dumbledore turned, listening.
“Do you,” said Newt, somewhat awkwardly. “Do you still love him? Grindelwald, I mean.” Dumbledore hung his head and laughed lightly, with a hint of regret.
“Yes, Newt,” he admitted. “I love him still.”
“After all this time?”
“Always,” said Dumbledore. “Always.”