The light outside the window grew brighter and brighter. A new day was about to begin.
But for the wizarding world, this dawn might have been even darker than the night that had just passed.
Dumbledore still sat there, his eyes lowered, utterly motionless. In the morning light, his profile looked exceptionally old, exceptionally weary, and exceptionally... lonely.
No one knew what he was thinking.
Was he recalling the mad Death Eater's wild laughter before his death?
Was he worrying over the unknown variable brought by that young man named Ian?
Was he considering how to face Voldemort, who had surpassed the legendary realm and obtained that bizarre power?
Or was he...
Thinking of nothing at all, simply allowing that heavy, inexpressible burden to weigh upon his heart?
The morning light gradually crept into the office, illuminating the portraits of the past Ministers for Magic on the walls. The people in those portraits silently watched the scene, equally speechless.
After a long while, Dumbledore slowly rose to his feet. His movements were somewhat stiff, as though the exhaustion of that night had finally come crashing down upon him. "Fudge, that boy is not our enemy," he said, his voice hoarse but still steady. "I'll be going back first. Contact me whenever you need to deal with what follows."
Fudge did not open his eyes. He merely gave a slight nod. Dumbledore turned and walked toward the door. His steps were slow, but still resolute. When he reached the doorway, he paused, his back to Fudge, his voice very soft.
"Voldemort will return."
After a brief pause, he added:
"But we will be prepared."
With that, he pushed open the door and walked out.
Only Fudge remained in the office, along with the ever-brightening morning light. And the unspoken weight pressing