THE SILENCE OF KARWALD

The summons from Dumbledore had been a quiet, insistent thread woven into the tapestry of my demanding routine, but its significance resonated like a gong. Midnight. His office. Urgent. It meant one thing: the time for subtle observation was over; direct action was upon me. The meticulously crafted façade of a diligent Head Boy, the dedicated apprentice, would now have to accommodate the role of an operative in a clandestine war.

I spent the rest of that day, after my final Slughorn lesson, in a calculated frenzy of preparation. The immediate demands of my mission to guide Tom Riddle, while still paramount, were momentarily eclipsed by the urgency of the present crisis. I needed to focus. This would be my first true test in the field, not just of my power, but of my planning, my nerve, and my ability to operate under extreme pressure, alone, in hostile territory.

First, I Floo'd to Castle Starborn. My private laboratories hummed with the magical energy of various ongoing projects, but I now shifted my focus to the immediate requirements of infiltration and extraction. Potions. Slughorn's recent, more urgent projects had been invaluable. I began brewing a fresh batch of Disorientation Draughts, carefully tweaking Slughorn's formula to increase its potency and shorten its onset time, yet making it odorless and almost tasteless. This would be crucial for dealing with guards. Then, a few vials of a high-grade Invisibility Potion, not the standard kind, but one I had personally refined from ancient Starborn recipes, capable of cloaking not just my physical form but also my magical signature, making me virtually undetectable even to highly trained Aurors or Grindelwald's acolytes. I also brewed several Advanced Healing Potions, enough to mend grievous injuries instantly, and a potent Revitalization Elixir for sustained energy and focus.

My mind raced, considering every contingency. A prison camp in Austria, under Grindelwald's direct control. That meant not just physical barriers, but sophisticated magical defenses. Anti-Apparition wards would be a given, likely multi-layered. Anti-Disapparition within the camp itself. Anti-detection spells designed to foil anything from simple Homenum Revelio to complex magical trace analysis. And worst of all, mind-protective enchantments – Grindelwald's forte. He wasn't just interested in breaking bodies; he wanted to break spirits, and extract information. I knew he used particularly insidious curses to induce despair and confusion, making prisoners susceptible to Legilimency. This meant I needed countermeasures, not just for myself, but for the wizard I was extracting.

I retrieved my personal kit from its magically expanded pouch: my wand, naturally, though I preferred wandless magic for discretion; a handful of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder for quick escapes; a small, perfectly balanced throwing knife imbued with a subtle silencing charm; and a variety of specialized lock-picking charms and counter-charms. More importantly, I created a custom set of mind-protective amulets. These were intricate, woven with my own Draconic magic and imbued with a variant of the Occlumency charms I'd refined. They wouldn't just block Legilimency; they would actively scramble and distort incoming probes, turning them back on the attacker. For the prisoner, I designed a smaller, more focused amulet that would help clear their mind of residual dark magic and fear, providing mental clarity and resilience.

My magical resonance sensing constantly hummed, scanning for any external probes on Castle Starborn, a direct consequence of the previous weeks' incident. I layered new, self-regenerating wards around my private lab, ensuring absolute secrecy.

At exactly 11:45 PM, I was back at Hogwarts, cloaked in a subtle disillusionment charm that only my magical resonance sensing confirmed was working perfectly. The castle was silent, save for the occasional creak of ancient timbers. The gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office swung aside before I even reached it, recognizing my magical signature as a pre-approved entry for this hour.

Dumbledore was seated at his desk, the pensieve still glowing softly, a single, flickering candle providing the only other illumination. The usual twinkle in his eyes was muted, replaced by a profound gravity.

"Good evening, Marcus," he said, his voice low, as I closed the door behind me. "Thank you for coming."

"Professor," I acknowledged, taking the seat he gestured to. "I understand the urgency."

"Indeed," he replied, leaning forward, his hands clasped before him. "The wizard we are extracting is named Elias Thorne. He was a highly placed intelligence officer within the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Magic, a master of magical cryptography and strategic analysis. He possessed crucial information regarding Grindelwald's long-term magical energy acquisition plans, details that could prove invaluable in disrupting his supply lines. He was captured during the fall of magical Prague. We believe he is being held in a newly established, high-security prison camp in the Austrian Alps, near the border with Switzerland. Its name, according to our most recent, fragmented intelligence, is Klarwald Prison."

Klarwald. The name itself sounded cold, stark. My mind immediately began to process the implications: alpine terrain, remote location, likely reliance on natural magical defenses integrated with warding.

"What is the nature of the camp's defenses, Professor?" I asked, my voice steady, my thoughts already racing, forming a mental blueprint.

Dumbledore sighed, a rare display of weariness. "Formidable. Grindelwald's designers have created a particularly nasty piece of work. Standard anti-Apparition and anti-Disapparition wards, of course, extending for several miles around the perimeter. Then, detection wards designed to pick up any magical signature attempting to cloak itself, and ward-scramble enchantments that make any attempt to unravel them incredibly dangerous, prone to feedback loops. The prison itself is carved into a mountainside, heavily reinforced with a variant of golem-flesh masonry, almost impervious to standard blasting curses. But the most concerning element, Marcus, are the mind-wards."

He leaned back, his gaze fixed on the flickering candle flame. "Grindelwald employs a particularly vile form of Legilimency-based interrogation. He uses what he calls 'truth-weavers' – his most skilled Legilimens – augmented by dark rituals that weaken the mind's natural defenses and amplify fear. The information Thorne holds is critical, but if his mind is broken, or corrupted, it is useless to us. The camp is also believed to be patrolled by Grindelwald's loyalists, not just his rank-and-file, but some of his more fanatical inner circle, potentially even members of his 'Order of the Phoenix'."

He looked at me directly. "The window of opportunity is narrow. We have intelligence that Thorne is scheduled for a 'final session' of interrogation within the next 48 hours. If he breaks, or if his mind is shattered, we lose everything."

"My objective, then, is to infiltrate Klarwald, locate Elias Thorne, extract him, and ensure his mental faculties are intact," I summarized, already visualizing the layers of defense, devising counter-strategies. "What is the egress plan?"

"That, Marcus, is largely up to you," Dumbledore said, a hint of his usual challenging glint returning to his eyes. "Given the nature of the wards, direct Apparition in or out is impossible. I can get you close to the anti-Apparition perimeter via a Portkey – a controlled drop point in a secluded valley about five miles from the camp. From there, it is an overland journey, deeply enchanted. Once inside, you are on your own. The extraction must be swift, silent, and leave no trace. Once Thorne is secured, your only means of exit is the same way you entered, or by whatever alternative you can devise within the time you have. Speed and absolute discretion are paramount."

"And the specific location within the camp?"

"We believe he is in the deep-level solitary cells, designed for maximum isolation and psychological pressure. Somewhere within the core of the mountain." Dumbledore pushed a rolled-up piece of parchment across the desk. "This is a crude schematic, based on intelligence from a previous, failed extraction attempt. It shows the general layout, the suspected warding layers, and estimated guard rotations. It is not complete, but it is all we have."

I unrolled the parchment. It was indeed crude, hand-drawn, with rough outlines of corridors, cell blocks, and symbols indicating suspected ward types. My magical resonance sensing immediately began to analyze the faint echoes of the information within the drawing, searching for weaknesses, patterns, points of leverage.

"Professor, I have already prepared a number of potions and charms for infiltration and counter-Legilimency," I began, laying out my thoughts with practiced clarity. "My own disillusionment charm, combined with my refined Invisibility Potion and wandless stealth magic, should allow me to bypass physical patrols. For the wards, I intend to use Nahl (flow) manipulation to subtly 'trick' the detection spells, making them perceive my passage as a natural current, rather than a magical intrusion. For the ward-scramble enchantments, I will use a precise application of A'kren (essence) disruption, a focused counter-essence that should momentarily neutralize their feedback loop without triggering alarms. I've also developed highly potent mind-protective amulets to block and distort Legilimency, for both myself and Thorne. The challenge will be applying the amulet to Thorne while he is likely under duress."

Dumbledore listened intently, a flicker of genuine admiration in his eyes. "Impressive, Marcus. A nuanced approach. Most would attempt brute force or simple invisibility. Your understanding of essences and magical flow… it speaks volumes."

"Thank you, Professor," I said, a rare warmth at his praise. "My primary concern is Thorne's mental state. Even if I extract him physically, a broken mind is of little use. What can be done on-site?"

"The amulet you propose is perhaps our best hope," Dumbledore replied. "Beyond that, only time and skilled mind-healers can truly restore a fractured mind. But the immediate goal is to prevent further damage. Grindelwald's methods are insidious. They strip away hope, leaving a void. The amulet, if it can provide even a sliver of clarity, could allow him to resist long enough for your extraction."

"And the guards?"

"They will be fanatical. Grindelwald instills absolute loyalty in his inner circle. Do not underestimate them. They are not easily swayed or deceived. Avoid confrontation if possible. If forced, be decisive, and leave no survivors if you must, and no trace. We cannot afford any evidence that could lead back to Britain or to me." Dumbledore's voice was firm, uncharacteristically cold. "This is war, Marcus. A grim one. Casualties are a part of it."

I nodded. The implication was clear. This wasn't a duel; it was an execution if I was cornered. My Draconic combat instincts, honed by years of rigorous training, would serve me well here. My precision stunning spells, my ability to silence and neutralize targets with wandless magic – these would be invaluable.

"I will also carry a few refined Disorientation Draughts," I added. "To incapacitate guards silently, should the need arise. They are odorless and act quickly."

"Excellent foresight," Dumbledore murmured. "The Portkey will activate precisely at 2:00 AM, at the south face of the Clock Tower, near the Forbidden Forest entrance. Be well-prepared. You will have approximately six hours of darkness after arrival before the first hint of dawn in that region. Maximize that window."

I absorbed every detail, committing it to memory. "Understood, Professor. I will not fail."

As I left Dumbledore's office, the silent, empty corridors of Hogwarts seemed to stretch endlessly before me. The weight of the mission settled fully. This wasn't a theoretical exercise, nor a simple retrieval. This was deep infiltration into enemy territory, a high-stakes gamble against one of the most dangerous wizards of the age. My magical resonance sensing extended, not just around me, but far across the continent, towards the distant hum of magical warfare, towards the chilling, pervasive aura of Grindelwald's advancing forces. I felt the raw power within me, the honed skills, the intellect, the Untethered Will. I was ready.

Back in my private quarters at Castle Starborn, I laid out my gear. My robes were plain, dark, designed for stealth. My boots were magically silenced. I strapped the vial of Invisibility Potion, the healing draughts, and the Disorientation Draughts into a hidden pocket. I checked the intricate enchantments on the mind-protective amulets. I reviewed the crude schematic of Klarwald Prison, memorizing every line, every possible route, every potential choke point. I ran through mental simulations: what if I encountered multiple guards? What if Thorne was too weak to move? What if Grindelwald himself was present? For each scenario, I devised multiple contingency plans, relying on my versatility and my Draconic stealth abilities.

I spent the next few hours in meditation, calming my mind, focusing my Nahl (flow), preparing my body and magic for the intense demands ahead. I visualized the penetration of the wards, the silent movement through the prison, the gentle application of the amulet to Thorne, the swift, clean extraction. I tapped into the core of my Draconic magic, feeling the raw power hum beneath my skin, ready to be unleashed with precision and control. This wasn't about flashy spells; it was about efficiency, discretion, and absolute mastery of my surroundings.

The clock in my study chimed once, indicating 1:00 AM. One hour until the Portkey. I took a deep breath, the scent of potion fumes and old parchment filling my senses. The subtle hum of Castle Starborn's wards, a constant, comforting presence, now felt like a silent blessing. My focus narrowed, every external distraction fading away. Tom Riddle, his future, the subtly woven threads of my influence – all were compartmentalized, placed on hold. For now, there was only Klarwald. Only Elias Thorne. Only the mission.

I moved to the Apparition point within Castle Starborn, a designated chamber reinforced with ancient anti-detection wards and temporal stasis charms. Stepping into the shimmering portal, I felt the familiar, uncomfortable lurch as the Portkey activated. The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of colors, then reassembled itself with dizzying speed. My feet hit solid ground, the sharp, cold bite of alpine air instantly filling my lungs. I was in a secluded, snow-dusted valley, surrounded by towering, shadowy peaks. The magical resonance sensing of the surrounding air confirmed the presence of a vast, complex network of anti-Apparition wards stretching for miles, an invisible cage.

Above me, nestled into the sheer face of a distant mountain, was a dark, ominous scar – Klarwald Prison. It looked like a natural outcropping, but my Draconic sight pierced through the subtle illusions, revealing the grim, reinforced entrances and the faint, menacing shimmer of active wards. The air itself felt heavy with contained magic, a constant, low thrum of power that spoke of dark enchantments.

The air bit, sharp and frigid, scouring my exposed skin with icy needles. The Portkey had deposited me with startling precision into the secluded alpine valley, nestled deep within what Dumbledore had described as the outer perimeter of Grindelwald's anti-Apparition wards. Above me, the snow-dusted peaks rose like colossal fangs against a bruised, moonless sky. Somewhere up there, carved into the unforgiving rock, lay Klarwald Prison. My magical resonance sensing confirmed the pervasive hum of the ward-field, a vast, invisible dome of interwoven enchantments that stretched for miles. It felt like a giant, cold hand pressing down on the landscape, muffling all but the most powerful magic.

My wandless disillusionment charm, reinforced by the Starborn Invisibility Potion I'd brewed, rendered me an almost perfect ghost. I couldn't see my own body, and the potion's properties suppressed my magical signature to such an extent that even the ambient magic of the valley seemed to absorb it. The silencing charms on my boots ensured that my steps on the packed snow were utterly soundless. My breath, usually a plume of white in the cold air, was magically condensed, making it invisible. Every sense was heightened, my Draconic sight piercing the gloom, my hearing picking up the faint whisper of the wind, the distant rush of a frozen stream, the soft thump-thump of my own heart.

The first phase of the mission was infiltration of the outer perimeter. This involved navigating approximately five miles of treacherous, snow-covered terrain, crisscrossed with Grindelwald's hidden patrols and subtle trip-wards. I began my ascent, moving with a fluid, almost predatory grace. My footsteps were calculated, placed carefully to avoid dislodging loose snow or disturbing the delicate balance of the environment. I used the terrain to my advantage, hugging rock faces, moving through shadowed gullies, and utilizing the cover of stunted pine trees.

My magical resonance sensing became my eyes and ears. I didn't just scan for magical signatures; I felt the distortions in the ambient magic, the faint ripples left by patrolling guards, the subtle pull of detection spells hidden beneath the snow. Grindelwald's patrols, I quickly learned, operated with unnerving discipline. They moved in pairs, often using their own rudimentary disillusionment charms, but their footfalls were heavier than mine, their magical auras subtly less refined. I could feel the faint, almost imperceptible thrum of their wands, held at the ready.

Twice, I encountered patrol groups. The first time, they passed within twenty feet of me, their muffled voices discussing the bitter cold and the futility of their watch. I pressed myself against a rock face, still as a statue, my breath held. My Untethered Will focused, subtly bending the very light and sound around me, weaving it into the natural distortions of the environment. They passed by, oblivious.

The second encounter was more precarious. A trio of guards, one of them a powerfully built wizard whose magical aura hummed with a disturbing, cold competence, set up a temporary campsite in a small gully directly in my path. They began brewing tea, their conversation punctuated by sharp, almost militaristic commands. I felt a series of detection runes shimmer into life around their encampment, small, almost invisible threads of magic designed to alert them to intrusion. This wasn't a patrol; this was a temporary sentry post.

My thought process was instantaneous: Bypass or neutralize? Neutralizing them would be risky, creating a potential alert if one managed even a silent scream. But bypassing them would mean a significant detour, costing precious time in a mission already constrained by the six-hour darkness window. I decided on a calculated bypass, but with a contingency.

I moved with excruciating slowness, a single inch at a time, assessing the exact placement of each detection rune with my magical resonance sensing. These weren't simple trip-wires; they were responsive, designed to ripple outwards if disturbed. I focused my Nahl (flow) and A'kren (essence) manipulation. I would have to make the ward perceive my passage as a natural alteration, a gentle shift in the air, a fleeting shadow, rather than the movement of a sentient being. It was like teaching a river to flow uphill, a profound manipulation of its very nature.

Inch by agonizing inch, I pushed through the invisible threads, my Untethered Will stretched to its limit. I imagined myself as a wisp of wind, a falling snowflake, an eddy in the magical currents of the mountain. The runes flickered, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer in my Draconic sight, but they did not alarm. The wizard with the cold aura stirred, his head lifting slightly, his gaze sweeping the gully, but he saw nothing. I passed through, leaving no ripple, no trace, my heart beating a rapid, silent rhythm against my ribs. It had been agonizingly slow, but successful.

As I approached the base of Klarwald Prison, the full might of Grindelwald's defensive magic assaulted my senses. The hum of the outer ward-field intensified, becoming a pervasive pressure against my mind. Here, the anti-Apparition wards were reinforced by a complex web of anti-detection spells woven into the very rock, radiating outward like a spider's web. Beyond these, I felt the unsettling presence of ward-scramble enchantments, designed to corrupt any attempt at dismantling the layers, sending chaotic magical feedback to the intruder. The prison itself, carved into the mountainside, revealed multiple, heavily reinforced entrances, each guarded by a visible shimmer of powerful protective charms.

My plan for ward penetration was audacious, born from my deepest understanding of A'kren and Nahl. I focused on a section of the mountain face that seemed less actively patrolled, a sheer, icy cliff. The first layer was the standard anti-detection. Using my magical resonance sensing, I identified the precise frequency of the detection spells, then, with my wandless magic, I emitted a subtle, counter-frequency pulse – not to disable the ward, but to make it 'blind' to my specific magical signature for a fleeting moment, a precise counter-echo. I slipped through.

The next layer, the ward-scramble enchantments, presented a greater challenge. I felt their chaotic energy, a twisting vortex of magical feedback waiting to ensnare any attempt at disruption. My strategy was to use a focused application of A'kren (essence) disruption. I externalized a minute fraction of my own Draconic essence, shaping it into a 'disruptor charm' – a miniature, self-contained pulse of chaotic anti-magic, perfectly calibrated to mimic the ward's own scramble frequency. I launched it, a silent, invisible projectile. It struck the ward, and for a split-second, the ward consumed its own chaos. The feedback loop was momentarily engaged upon itself, the ward effectively 'blinding' and 'deafening' itself as it struggled to process the unexpected internal disruption. In that micro-window, I flowed through, my wandless magic propelling me with silent speed. The wards snapped back to full power behind me, but I was already inside the perimeter. The sensation was exhilarating, a silent triumph of precision.

Now, I was in a smaller, enclosed area between the outer wards and the prison's main entrance. The air here was even colder, tainted with the faint, metallic tang of raw magic and the lingering scent of despair. I felt the presence of several guards nearby, and the distinct, powerful magical aura of a sentient golem, likely a guardian for the main entrance.

I took out one of the refined Disorientation Draughts. The vial was small, dark, almost imperceptible in my gloved hand. My plan was to avoid direct engagement, to use the draught as a silent incapacitant. I located the main guard post near the heavily reinforced prison entrance. Two guards were stationed there, their conversation low. My magical resonance sensing confirmed the third presence, the golem, silently standing nearby.

I chose my moment. One guard stifled a yawn, turning his back for a moment. With a flick of my wrist, a silent, almost invisible mist of the Disorientation Draught was released, carried by a micro-current of manipulated air, directly towards the open mouth of the yawning guard. His companion, standing too close, would also inhale some. The onset would be rapid.

It was. Within seconds, the first guard swayed, his eyes glazing over. He mumbled incoherently, clutching his head, then slumped silently to the ground. His companion stared, confused, then he too began to list, muttering about sudden dizziness, before collapsing. No alarm, no sound. Perfect.

The golem, however, was a different matter. It was a construct, immune to potions that affected biological functions. But it was also predictable. My magical resonance sensing confirmed its operational parameters: it moved in a slow, rhythmic patrol pattern. As it lumbered past the incapacitated guards, it paused, its rudimentary magical sensors detecting their inert forms. It turned, its stone eyes scanning the area for threats.

This was my window. As it paused, I moved. My wandless magic formed a focused stasis field – not a full paralysis, but a temporary, almost imperceptible slowing of its magical and physical processes. The golem stiffened, its movements becoming agonizingly sluggish. It was still active, but moving like molasses, its attempts to raise an alarm spell caught in slow motion. I slipped past it, swift as a shadow, towards the main entrance.

The entrance was a massive, magically reinforced steel door, covered in intricate, glowing protective runes. These weren't detection wards; they were active deterrents, likely blasting anyone who touched them without proper authorization. My approach here was one of magical mimicry. I focused my magical resonance sensing on the faint, almost imperceptible magical signature of the golem, which was designed to pass through these runes unhindered. I began to subtly alter my own magical signature, cloaked as it was by the Invisibility Potion, to mimic the golem's A'kren – a cold, unthinking construct of magic. It was a perilous gamble, requiring immense control over my own magical identity.

Inch by inch, I pressed my hand against the cold steel of the door, subtly overriding the runes' recognition protocols with my mimicked signature. The runes glowed brighter for a moment, then, slowly, one by one, they dimmed, accepting me as a harmless part of the prison's own defenses. The heavy door swung inward with a faint, low groan, revealing a long, dark corridor. I slipped inside, the door closing silently behind me.

I was in. The interior of Klarwald was a chilling tableau of oppressive magic. The air was thick with it, permeated by the lingering scent of despair, the faint echoes of tortured minds, a constant, low thrum of contained misery that grated on my magical resonance sensing. The walls were rough-hewn stone, permeated by the dark magic of the golem-flesh masonry Dumbledore had mentioned, making them incredibly resistant to physical and magical damage. The corridors were lit by dim, flickering magical lanterns that cast long, dancing shadows.

My crude schematic became my guide. I moved through the labyrinthine passages, keeping to the shadows, my footsteps silent. I encountered several more patrols within the prison. These guards were even more vigilant, often employing low-level Legilimency probes to scan for unseen presences. My mind-protective amulet, already activated, worked perfectly, twisting their probes into meaningless static before they could even brush against my true thoughts. They'd pause, confused, dismiss the odd sensation, and move on.

The main challenge now was locating Elias Thorne. Dumbledore had said deep-level solitary cells. I navigated downwards, through winding staircases and dimly lit passages, the air growing colder, heavier, the aura of despair intensifying. I passed cell after cell, most empty, some containing gaunt, broken figures staring blankly into the distance. It was a truly horrific sight, a testament to Grindelwald's cruelty. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to remain detached, focused.

Finally, I reached a section of cells that radiated a particularly potent, malevolent magical signature – the likely location of the "truth-weavers" Dumbledore had mentioned. And within one of these cells, a faint, almost imperceptible glimmer of defiance, a spark of resilient thought, that resonated with Elias Thorne's known magical signature. He was alive. And still fighting.

The cell door was made of thick, enchanted iron, sealed with multiple locks and wards. My magical resonance sensing confirmed they were intricate, but mostly physical and standard magical locking spells. I applied my specialized counter-charms, a precise sequence of disruption spells that vibrated the locks at their sympathetic frequency. Each click was silent, each ward shimmered and then faded. The cell door swung open with a soft, almost imperceptible sigh of hinges.

The sight within was harrowing. Elias Thorne was a gaunt, wasted figure, chained to a stone bench, his clothes in tatters. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, fixed on some unseen horror. His aura was a tangled mess of pain, fear, and a desperate, failing resistance. He was constantly being bombarded by low-level Legilimency probes, his mind a battleground. He mumbled incoherently, twitching, fighting shadows.

This was the critical moment. I moved swiftly, silently, my wandless magic already flowing. I first cast a powerful, silent calming charm over him, designed to soothe the frayed edges of his mind, to cut through the immediate terror. Then, with infinite gentleness, I reached for the mind-protective amulet I had prepared. It was a simple silver disc, intricately inscribed with runes, and imbued with my most potent Occlumency and Draconic mind-shielding magic.

"Elias Thorne," I whispered, my voice barely audible, but firm. "I am here to extract you. Do not resist. I am from Dumbledore. You are safe."

His eyes, still wide and unfocused, flickered towards me. My magical resonance sensing confirmed his mind was too fragmented to truly register my words, but the calming charm was beginning its work. I quickly fastened the amulet around his neck.

The moment the amulet settled, there was a visible change. A shockwave rippled through his aura as the amulet activated, violently scrambling the constant Legilimency probes bombarding his mind. Thorne gasped, a ragged sound, his body convulsing as the dark magic recoiled. His eyes, though still pained, slowly began to clear. The immediate terror receded, replaced by a profound weariness, but also a flicker of something new: recognition. Hope.

"D-Dumbledore?" he croaked, his voice raw.

"Yes," I confirmed, my voice still low. "We have little time. Can you walk?"

He tried to push himself up, his muscles protesting. "I… I think so. They… they were trying to… the plans… Grindelwald's… ley-lines…" He was still partially trapped in the nightmare, but the amulet was working, restoring his core mental functions.

"Focus on my voice, Elias," I instructed, my wandless magic gently helping him to his feet. I could feel the immense drain on his magical reserves, the psychological damage that would take time to heal. But his will was intact. "The plans can wait. We need to move. Now."

He nodded, leaning heavily on me. I supported him, moving slowly but deliberately out of the cell, my wandless stealth magic still active, muffling our sounds, making us invisible. We navigated the winding corridors, retracing my steps, moving towards the entrance. Every shadow felt like a lurking guard, every distant sound like an alarm. My magical resonance sensing remained extended, scanning for patrols, for any disturbance in the magical fabric of the prison.

We encountered one more guard on our way out, a solitary figure turning a corner ahead. My wandless magic was instant: a precise, silent stunning spell, aimed at his temple. He crumpled without a sound, his body hitting the stone floor with a soft thud that only I, with my heightened senses, could hear. I layered a quick disillusionment charm over him, making him blend with the shadows, ensuring no immediate discovery. We pressed on.

Reaching the main entrance, the reinforced steel door, I once again performed the magical mimicry of the golem's essence. The runes shimmered, then subsided, and the door opened outwards into the frigid night. The golem, still moving in agonizing slow motion, was exactly where I had left it, caught in its temporal stasis. The two guards were still slumped in the snow, unconscious. No alarms. No trace.

The wind howled, whipping snow around us as we stepped out into the open. The sky was still dark, but a faint, bruised purple was beginning to tinge the eastern horizon. Dawn was perhaps an hour or so away. We needed to move. Fast.

"The Portkey," I whispered to Thorne, supporting his weight. "It's five miles from here, near the valley floor. We must move quickly."

Thorne, though weak, seemed to draw strength from the fresh, cold air. "Yes… yes. I can feel… the clear air. It helps."

We began our descent, my wandless magic creating subtle cushioning charms beneath his feet, making the treacherous terrain slightly easier to navigate. I kept one hand on him, ready to cast a shielding charm or a silent stunning spell at a moment's notice. My magical resonance sensing continued to sweep the landscape, searching for any sign of pursuit. Nothing. For now, we were safe.

The journey back through the snow-covered valley felt longer than the infiltration. Thorne, despite his determination, was weakened by weeks of torture. I poured a few drops of the Revitalization Elixir into his mouth. He gasped, a fresh spark re-igniting in his eyes, his breathing deepening. The elixir bought us time, gave him the strength to endure.

We reached the designated Portkey drop point with minutes to spare. The flat rock Dumbledore had specified glowed with a faint, almost imperceptible magical shimmer, waiting for its trigger word.

"Here," I said, guiding Thorne to sit on the snow beside the rock. "The Portkey will activate in less than a minute. Are you ready?"

Thorne looked up at me, his eyes clear now, filled with a deep, profound gratitude. "Thank you, Lord Starborn," he rasped, his voice stronger. "You… you saved my mind. And more."

"Just Marcus," I corrected him, a faint smile touching my lips, even through the exhaustion. "And save your strength. We're not out of the woods yet."

The Portkey pulsed. I placed Thorne's hand on the rock, then my own. The world dissolved again, a familiar lurch, then the jarring sensation of solid ground beneath my feet. We were back at Hogwarts, in the Clock Tower courtyard. The first faint rays of dawn were just touching the peaks of the Forbidden Forest. We had made it.

I helped Elias Thorne to his feet. He swayed slightly, but his mind was clear, his gratitude palpable. "I need to speak with Dumbledore immediately," he said, his voice now firm. "I have crucial information. Grindelwald's latest plans… they are far more ambitious than anyone suspects."

I nodded, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me now that the adrenaline had subsided. "I will take you to him."

As I led Elias Thorne towards Dumbledore's office, the weight of the mission's success was profound. It was a victory, a significant blow against Grindelwald's intelligence network. But it was only one battle in a war that was rapidly escalating, a war that would demand every ounce of my skill, every facet of my power. And in the back of my mind, the quiet, unsettling presence of thoughts about Tom Riddle remained. The immediate fight was underway, but the long, unseen war for his soul still lay aheadAnd I would have to fight them both.