White light bloomed in Cassian’s palms, bright enough that Voldemort flinched even before it touched him. Cassian brought his hands up, hovering them near Voldemort’s temples.

“Stand still,” Cassian murmured. “Although tempting, my intention isn’t to kill you. Not this time.”

Voldemort’s voice rasped. “Touch me and I will-“

“No you won’t,” Cassian said, calm as anything. “Because you can’t. Also because you’re about to have a very intimate experience with your own soul. Think of it like a deep cleanse. Magical exfoliation.”

The light brightened, threads curling round Cassian’s fingers.

“This’ll sting,” he added. “Probably a lot. But you’re a big, terrifying Dark Lord. You’ll cope, right?”

Voldemort’s eyes widened. He felt Cassian’s magic searching something tucked deep inside him. Something foul. Something that had no business clinging to a living body. Something he previously patched up.

Cassian saw the flicker cross his face and snorted. “Oh, now you’re worried. Excellent. Means I’ve found the right bit.”

He lowered his hands until the light kissed Voldemort’s skin, thin strands sinking through as if the air had turned liquid.

Voldemort hissed in pain.

Cassian didn’t flinch. “There it is. Nasty little parasite. Honestly, Tom, did you never check your own soul after shredding it? Basic hygiene.”

The light pulsed.

Something inside Voldemort shuddered, magic turning in on itself, trying to recoil from Cassian’s grip.

Cassian dug deeper.

“Hold still,” he murmured. “If this fragment snaps the wrong direction, you’ll pop like a melon and I’ll have to explain that to Dumbledore. None of us want that.”

Voldemort’s breath hitched, his spine bowing against the roots as the light pressed harder, tightening its grip on the fragment curled at the centre of him, thin, jagged, desperate to stay hidden.

“Found you,” he whispered after feeling the greedy and clinging soul piece deep within the Dark Lord.

The fragment writhed, trying to lash out.

Cassian closed his hands, drawing the light tight round it. “Bad move. You’re not biting me.”

The air cracked.

Voldemort screamed, loud and sharp, as if the sound had torn through him before he decided to make it.

Cassian’s grip didn’t waver.

“Almost done,” he said, irritated. “Stop fighting me. You made this thing. You should recognise when it’s cornered.”

White light flared, then folded inward, dragging the fragment with it until the glow snapped out like a candle pinched shut.

Voldemort sagged in the roots, panting, paler than usual, staring in shock.

Cassian lowered his hands, shaking them out as though he’d brushed something unpleasant. “There. That bit won’t trouble you again.”

Voldemort stared at him, chest heaving. “What… did you do?”

Cassian grinned. “Upgraded you.”

He patted Voldemort’s cheek, gently, insultingly.

“You’re welcome.”

Voldemort rasped, breath catching on the edges of the words. “My power… my soul-“

Cassian waved him off. “Relax. I killed a horcrux that was squatting inside you. Did you make that one by accident? Why would you shove a fragment into your own body? That’s just stupid.”

Voldemort went still. He opened his mouth but the cliff shook with a rush of heat. Flame curled into a spiral at the top of the path, so bright that forcing Cassian to shield his face. Dumbledore and Marauder stepped back into view.

And both looked dreadful, but only one looked embarrassed about it.

Dumbledore’s beard was singed at the ends, several strands burnt clean through. Smoke curled off his robes. His glasses had a faint black ring round one lens where something had clearly exploded near his face.

Marauder, by contrast, was unperturbed, although he wasn’t smiling anymore. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, scorch marks across his sleeves, and the air still hissed faintly round his boots.

“Well,” he said, tone flat. “Didn’t expect that much fight from you, Albus. Thought you’d slowed down.”

Dumbledore’s mouth flattened. He didn’t answer, which told Cassian enough about how that conversation had gone.

Marauder looked Cassian up and down, then flicked his gaze to Voldemort, clicking his tongue. “Honestly. You couldn’t beat a schoolteacher?”

Voldemort strained against the roots like sheer rage might snap them. It didn’t. He looked like he wanted to explode out of his own skin.

Cassian lifted Voldemort’s wand lightly. “He tried.”

Marauder gave Cassian a faint, unimpressed look before sending a burst of phoenix flame straight at Voldemort’s feet. The fire licked up the bindings, burning them clean without touching Voldemort’s skin. The roots shrivelled and cracked apart.

“Up,” Marauder said.

Voldemort stumbled free and moved to Marauder’s side so quickly Cassian almost laughed.

Marauder jerked his chin toward the edge of the path. “We’re leaving.”

Cassian stepped forward, wand up.

Dumbledore’s hand caught his sleeve. “Let them go.”

Cassian looked at him.

Marauder dipped his head in mock courtesy. “Good chat, gentlemen.”

Then he and Voldemort vanished in a break of phoenix flame.

Cassian stared at the scorched patch where they’d stood then turned to Dumbledore.

“Hold still,” he said, already lifting his wand.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, but the first diagnostic charm washed over him before he managed a word. Cassian stepped in closer, running another, then a third, eyes narrowed. Scorching. Residual compression. Internal magic thrown off its rhythm.

“It looks worse than it is,” Dumbledore said softly, though he was clearly trying not to wince.

Cassian ignored that and cast a stabilising charm across the man’s chest. The glow settled. Not perfect, but enough for now.

Dumbledore let out a slow breath. “Marauder wasn’t this strong two years ago.”

Cassian’s head snapped up. “Did he get stronger?”

“I don’t know.” Dumbledore’s gaze drifted to the cliff edge where the flame had vanished. “Either he grew far beyond what I believed… or he was hiding his strength from all of us.”

Cassian stepped back, studying him properly now that the immediate issue was checked. “Anything broken? Any internal burns?”

“No,” Dumbledore said, “thanks to you.”

Cassian let out a huff. “Good. Because for a moment you looked ready to keel over. And I’m the one who gets told off for taking unnecessary risks.”

Dumbledore’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, well… perhaps I’m not immune to the habit.”

He then pointed at the burnt roots and ashes.

“Have you succeeded?”

Cassian gave a nod. “I destroyed the horcrux inside Tommy. Hurt him like hell, though.” He slipped Voldemort’s wand into his coat, jaw tight. “Good thing we didn’t test it on Potter first. He wouldn’t have handled it half as well.”

Dumbledore sighed. “It is still better than one dying with the other. Pain is… survivable. Death is not.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “That was never on the table.”

Dumbledore smiled faintly. Cassian ignored it, nodding to the path. “Come on. Let’s get inside before the wind takes the rest of your beard. You’ve lost enough today.”

Dumbledore chuckled, following after him.

***

Cassian leaned against the wall by the door, arms crossed. The cell was quiet aside from the slow clink of enchanted chains.

Grindelwald sat in the middle of it, bound to a chair bolted into the stone. The man looked far too cheerful for someone imprisoned in a tower built for nightmares. His hair had gone white long ago, but his smile hadn’t aged a day.

“My old friend,” he said, bright as summer.

Dumbledore didn’t answer.

Grindelwald huffed. “You refuse to greet me? After all these years?”

Cassian raised a hand lazily. “Hello.”

Grindelwald blinked at him. “And who,” he asked, turning back to Dumbledore, “is that?”

“A colleague,” Dumbledore said.

Cassian offered a little wave. “He’s shy about my job title.”

Grindelwald studied him with far too much enjoyment. “You’ve brought company. How unlike you, Albus.”

Dumbledore didn’t rise to it. “We’re here for information.”

“Information,” Grindelwald repeated, sighing as though this bored him. “You travelled all this way, climbed the tower, braved the drafts… for questions.”

Dumbledore’s jaw set. “Your partnership with Marauder. How did it begin?”

Grindelwald gave him a look, then let out a soft laugh. “Ah. So that’s the angle today.” He tilted his head. “My partnership with whom?”

“Feng Shui Marauder,” Dumbledore repeated.

Grindelwald widened his eyes in a polite caricature of innocence. “I don’t recall the name.”

Dumbledore gave him a deadpan. “You worked with him. You knew him long before you fell. You shared goals.”

Grindelwald clicked his tongue. “If I had a partnership, Albus, I’d remember it. I’m getting old, not senile.”

He then took a closer look at him. “Albus?” His mouth curved. “You look singed.”

Cassian snorted from the wall. “Marauder tried to roast Dumbledore alive ten minutes ago. Can you guess why they were here?”

Grindelwald’s eyes narrowed. Head tilted.

“So,” he murmured, “Marauder moves openly now. Must have found what he sought.”

Cassian pushed off the wall. “Funny you say that.”

Grindelwald’s eyes slid to him. “Do tell.”

Cassian walked a few steps closer, hands tucked behind his back. “Because he said he was here for you. A few minutes ago. Standing on your front doorstep with Voldemort, who, by the way, says hello. Well. ‘Hello’ wasn’t the word he used, but the sentiment was there.”

Grindelwald’s smile faltered.

Cassian stopped beside Dumbledore. “So if you’re worried about keeping secrets, don’t bother. Your old pen-pal is very much alive, very much chatty, and very much trying to kill you. Again, judging by today’s mood.”

Grindelwald went still, eyes narrowing.

Dumbledore took the opening. “Gellert. Tell us what you know.”

Grindelwald leaned back in the chair, chains clinking.

“I heard the commotion,” he said. “Impossible not to. Sound travels well in towers. Didn’t think it was this serious.”

Cassian gave a small shrug. “We’ve had worse reunions. Today no one fell off anything, so that’s a win.”

Grindelwald ignored that, eyes locked on Dumbledore.

Dumbledore stepped closer. “You partnered with him once. You travelled the same circles. You knew his interests.”

Grindelwald let out a soft hum. “Interests is a gentle word for whatever ideas lived in that man’s skull.”

Dumbledore pressed again. “Gellert. Tell us what Marauder wanted from you.”

Grindelwald’s eyes drifted to the ceiling for a long moment, as though weighing how much trouble the truth could cause, or perhaps how entertaining it might be to hand it over.

When he finally looked back down, the grin returned.

“He didn’t want partnership, Albus. He wanted knowledge. Very specific knowledge. And I refused him.”

Cassian perked up. “Well, that narrows it down to every bad idea in the last two thousand years. Give us a hint?”

Grindelwald snorted through his nose.

“He asked about the Valley,” he said quietly. “He sought the route. The exact route.”

Dumbledore’s breath hitched.

Cassian’s eyes widened. “The Ashfal?”

Grindelwald nodded. “He believed something survived there. Something that was surviving for a long time.”

Cassian frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Grindelwald laughed softly. “Albus, do you remember the wand you took from me? The one forged by Death itself?”

He turned to Cassian, checking for a reaction. Cassian didn’t give him the courtesy.

“Oh, so you already know,” Grindelwald said, pleased. “Good. Saves us all a lecture. The Elder Wand was crafted in the Valley.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened.

Grindelwald smiled, pleased with the effect. “When I first joined the Covenant, Marauder noticed the wand straightaway. He recognised the energy in it. Said it resonated with his phoenix magic.”

Cassian stared at him. “You’re losing me. What does the Valley have to do with Marauder’s party tricks? Or your wand? What was in the Valley?”

Grindelwald looked to Dumbledore, as if passing the weight of the answer back where it belonged.

Dumbledore let out a breath. “The Valley was the birthplace of magic. Or so the oldest records claim. It was a sacred region that no one knew the location of. Not before the Dark King. And after the Ashfal…” His gaze dropped. “No one returned.”

Grindelwald dipped his chin. “Quite. I told Marauder exactly that. He suggested I stop by Meso America. Said there was a rumour worth chasing. Valuable, he claimed. Dangerous, more likely.” He shrugged lightly, chains clinking. “I never reached it. You stopped me. You know the rest.”

Cassian blinked, trying to gather the pieces. “So Marauder wanted directions to the original wellspring of magic, you told him ‘don’t go there unless you fancy dying,’ and he sent you off toward another hotspot anyway?”

Grindelwald’s smile sharpened. “Marauder always did enjoy stepping on sacred ground. He scouts first. Tricks someone else into walking it second.”

Dumbledore’s shoulders tensed.

Grindelwald watched him, amused. “If Marauder is seeking the Valley, then he’s determined to conquer it.”

Dumbledore looked outside from the window, eyes blank.

Grindelwald tilted his head. “If the Valley truly was the birthplace of magic, then whatever lived there was ancient long before wands, before spells, before humans believed themselves clever. And Marauder wants magic that resonates with him.”

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