Power crackled, surging at his request. Dumbledore raised a hand, deflecting an uninspired curse, sending it skywards. Metal walls, raised by the inherent might wielded by a Master of Alchemy rose to his right, far stronger than Transfigured constructs. Their rugged face remained immune to repeated blasts, ignoring the various Finite incantations flung at it. That was the superiority of Alchemy: what it made was permanent.

Right now he faced one of Grindlewald’s lieutenants, an older one for a change. Most of what had been sent to face his advance lacked experience, enthusiasm and glorious reflexes were a hollow substitute. This fellow wielded his wand with precise movements, classical influences evident in every motion. Even now he raised another chained attack, blending the first motions of the common Reducto into an obscure Vindictus, combining the overall motions into an elemental Thundera. Neophytes missed such subtle nuances, one could easily mistake the Vindictus for a Fiendes, or possibly a Ventus, if flustered enough. But this was a good combination; reliable, powerful, and varied enough so that a single shield could not protect from any two.

Unless you knew better, of course.

Dumbledore twirled his wand during the fraction of a second it took to analyze his opponent’s attack; motions were almost unnecessary now. The feel of each spell as it built itself within the other’s wand was good enough for the basic elements. Unlike Aurors, he needed no iron-filled monstrosity to protect himself, the new invention saved lives, but just hindered a consummate professional in the classical form. The tip of his wand spiraled the final touch, spawning a silver-hued bubble, sinking into the ground beneath his feet.

The Reducto’s harsh crimson light smashed into his Aegis, bringing out a gonging boom. Its follow-up, the Vindictus faded out of existence, defeated by his incorporating a diffusion element within the shield. Lighting, fueled by the Thendera forked around the shield as well, denied access to his aura for accuracy.

Classical response? I’ll give him classical! Dumbledore was already in motion, never stopping. If one knowledgeable in the musical fields had been present, they would have recognized what the intangible objects fading into sight were, perhaps the name Götz rising to the forefront of their mind: the Lieutenant had no such luck.

Pipes, reproduced from a fond memory in Domplatz, Germany, remained incorporeal. But their company grew exponentially, forming triple-thick rows behind Dumbledore, the sound-emission slots all facing the same direction, an almost golden glow emanating around their presence. Each pipe widened, massive diameters increasing before Dumbledore’s wand cued a downstroke.

As one, the pipes played an earth-rending chord. Dumbledore’s shield, which had barely reacted under the force of multiple lightning strikes, rippled under their blast. Sound that loud behaved like magic, less of an observable effect and more of a presence. Stone fences shattered, smaller rocks rolling backwards like tenpins.

Grindlewald’s lieutenant reacted admirably; a protego sprang up, disintegrated. Another sprang into existence, a stronger version that withstood the blast for three seconds longer, just enough time for a Transfigured wall to rise in place.

Growling, Dumbledore raised his wand, increasing the volume. He’d laid jinxes countering Apparation, but those could be broken. He would not let this servant of evil escape!

Responding to his anger the sound grew louder. His own shield wavered at the closest point, threatening to break under the strain. But the Transfigured wall crumbled at last, revealing the strongest shielding charm the Lieutenant knew.

Dumbledore slid a Bone-Breaker hex under its rim, breaking the man’s concentration, and ending the fight. Shattered skulls could not be repaired in time, not in battlefield conditions.

A simple jab canceled the spells, flowing into a new routine as new fire came in from the mages formerly blocked by his Alchemy wall. Reversing the tables sent lightning strikes among their midst, scattering an organized shield-wall into chaos.

“What was that?” an American accent interjected his concentration. Smooth recovery allowed Dumbledore to change what had been going to be a Binding spell into an area-effect fog; just as needed, really.

“The what?” he kept half an ear bent to the newcomer. Americans had joined the fight, none too soon in his opinion. They were impudent and irreverent, but extraordinarily inventive, and tenacious. Like good students.

“What you just did? That noise?” The American flicked his wand around in an unfamiliar fashion, generating what seemed to be anvils falling from the sky. Each had white-stenciled ‘ACME, Black Ink’ on their sides. An incantation perhaps?

“Ah.” Dumbledore re-focused. “Bach. Fugue in G-minor, his ‘Little Fugue’ I believe.”

A rare smile quirked the side of his mouth when the American started grumbling under his breath.

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