Ignoring Nala, Wentworth made his way to the door of Dumbledore's office. Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door swung open on its own, and Dumbledore's voice rang out from inside:
"Come in."
Wentworth froze mid-motion, his hand suspended in the air. He glanced at it awkwardly.
Was I really walking that loudly? he wondered.
Upon entering, he found Dumbledore already waiting. No sooner had Wentworth taken his seat than Dumbledore began:
"I knew you'd come looking for me."
As he spoke, Dumbledore poured a cup of clear tea and passed it to Wentworth.
Wentworth smiled, accepting the cup. "Headmaster, I didn't think you liked these bland drinks."
Dumbledore chuckled, a twinkle of meaning in his eyes.
"Alas, I don't have the kind I do enjoy. Life rarely bends to our preferences, even if the world calls me the greatest white wizard of our time."
Wentworth paused at that, sensing there was more beneath the surface of those words. But before he could dwell on it, Dumbledore continued plainly:
"You're here about Yukina, aren't you?"
Wentworth didn't bother to hide his surprise. After all, this was Albus Dumbledore.
He set his teacup down and recounted everything that had happened the previous day, detail by detail. Dumbledore listened intently, never once interrupting.
When Wentworth finally finished, Dumbledore let out a deep sigh and said quietly:
"A tragic child."
Parched from speaking at length, Wentworth drained the remainder of his tea before asking,
"Headmaster… do you know something? I have this strange feeling, there's something not quite right about Yukina."
Dumbledore fell silent, lost in thought. Wentworth frowned. He recognized that look, whenever Dumbledore grew contemplative like this, it meant something serious was at hand.
Then, suddenly, Dumbledore asked,
"Wentworth, have you ever heard of an Obscurial?"
Wentworth blinked, confused, and shook his head.
Dumbledore explained:
"An Obscurial is a manifestation of a dark magical force."
"It's powerful, unstable, and nearly impossible to control. It moves with terrifying speed, and in some cases, it can separate from its host entirely and attack others."
Wentworth frowned, clearly disturbed.
"Dark magic? But dark magic usually stems from malice, and it requires learning and practice. Yukina doesn't seem like…"
He trailed off as Dumbledore gently cut in:
"This kind… is born."
Wentworth's jaw dropped. He stared in disbelief.
"Born with dark magic? But what does it do? How strong is it?"
It was no surprise he was so intrigued, Wentworth had never heard of innate dark magic before.
Dumbledore met his gaze calmly and said:
"Your grandfather once sent an Obscurial, one of these afflicted witches or wizards, to kill me."
Wentworth offered a sheepish smile, attempting to mask the shock tightening in his chest.
It was becoming clear to him: his grandfather and Dumbledore had once been adversaries, and formidable ones at that.
For his grandfather to send an Obscurial after Dumbledore, it meant either the Obscurial was nearly as powerful as Dumbledore himself, or it possessed some terrible ability that could pose a threat even to the strongest of wizards.
In either case, it was undoubtedly a dangerous gift.
After a moment's silence, Wentworth asked:
"Headmaster, can an Obscurial control its own powers?"
Dumbledore's eyes flickered with something, a shadow of regret, but he answered:
"To a limited extent."
Wentworth nodded slowly. That made sense. If there were no control at all, his grandfather couldn't have ordered an Obscurial to attack Dumbledore.
Then a wild thought crossed Wentworth's mind: What if I could assemble a team of Obscurials, wouldn't that be the wizarding world's version of a special forces unit?
But just as the idea took hold, Dumbledore interrupted his train of thought with a sorrowful voice:
"In most cases… Obscurials don't live past the age of ten."
Wentworth froze.
It took several seconds before the words fully registered, and when they did, his teacup slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.
Dumbledore watched him quietly. His own gaze seemed distant, as if he too had been transported into a painful memory.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Wentworth whispered hoarsely:
"Isn't there… any exception?"
Dumbledore was silent for a long time, long enough for Wentworth's heart to sink completely, until finally, the old wizard said:
"There is."
Wentworth's head snapped up, eyes full of hope.
Dumbledore spoke slowly, deliberately:
"A witch or wizard with exceptional magical potential can live longer, like the one your grandfather found to send after me."
Eagerly, Wentworth asked:
"What happened to them? That Obscurial, what became of them?"
Dumbledore shook his head with quiet solemnity.
"He died. Not long after the attack."
"Even if an Obscurial survives past ten, their body weakens over time. The more they use magic, the faster the decline. That is a truth no magic can change."
Wentworth buried his face in his hands.
Human nature longs to preserve what is beautiful, and Wentworth was no different.
After a long silence, he raised his head and looked at Dumbledore.
"Headmaster… is there nothing you can do? You're the greatest white wizard who ever lived."
Dumbledore slowly shook his head.
"I am a wizard, not a god."
As despair settled over Wentworth, Dumbledore added, quietly, thoughtfully:
"There may be someone… someone who might know how. Perhaps the only one who could…"
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TN: This fanfic has been fully translated and is available on my Patreon —— patreon(.)com/PrimalDemon [remove the parentheses ( )]