Oldham
He’d never been to Oldham before, but Harry was certain it was not usually filled with the smoke, the sounds of screaming, nor flames licking up the sides many of the buildings, and certainly not with robed and masked figures running rampant.
“Harry, wait!”
He ignored the headmaster in favour of coming to the aid of a woman who was being chased by one of the Death Eaters, who paused at the sight of him, evidently in a state of disbelief at who they’d been confronted by.
“Potter!”
Before he could even raise his wand, Harry had already snapped his own into action, his trio of spells tearing through the hastily conjured shield, rendering the man unconscious, bereft of his wand, and all of his fingers torn in unnatural directions.
“Thank you! Oh my god, thank you!” she woman sobbed.
“Go!” Harry urged, hurrying forward to help any other he might come across.
It seemed that he and Dumbledore had been the first to arrive, so, for now at least, their presence hadn’t been noticed. Had it been, the two of them would’ve been set upon by every last follower of the Death Eater here hoping to hand Harry to Voldemort or prove themselves against the one man their master had always been wary of, safe in the knowledge that they wouldn’t be killed.
When it came to facing Harry, they would certainly be surprised if they held a similar belief, and as he pressed on, he did his utmost to remain calm and remember the teachings of Snape, Dumbledore, and the Peverell brothers; each having provided him with the most invaluable advice.
In this situation, he knew that it was Antioch he must listen to.
‘You hit hard and fast and leave no room for error, Harry. Ensure they cannot get up to return the favour when you are no longer focused on them.’
It was sound advice that he put into practice only a moment later as a duo of Death Eaters emerged from one of the buildings, which they quickly set aflame, their laughter heard over the sirens in the distance.
Both paused at the sight of him, to the detriment of the burly man standing on the left.
With a flick of Harry’s wand, he was sent crashing through the door he’d exited the building from, and with another, the gap left behind by the torn-away door was filled with bricks, trapping him inside.
“You bastard!” his companion protested.
Her wandwork proved to be sharp, and her spell choice leaving Harry in no doubt of her intentions, but her desire to inflict as much pain on him as possible was rather amateur in comparison to her ability.
It made defending her attacks simple enough, and not solely relying on one tact, Harry was able to find a gap in her continuous offensive. With her focus on him, she failed to notice the brickwork being torn from the wall behind her until she was buried beneath it.
A few extra spells on Harry’s part ensured she would not easily free herself, but that was when he realised his error.
With a scream a mixture of agony and rage, the man he’d banished back into the building emerged from the gap, his robes aflame, and yet, that did not deter him from attacking with a vicious slashing hex, which Harry managed to divert away from him before following up with a rebuttal.
Instead of being hurled through a closed door this time, the Death Eater was slammed into the wall with enough force to break several of his bones and leave him unmoving on the ground with his robes continuing to burn.
Not wanting the man to not be identified by the aurors, Harry doused them with a jet of water before turning, only to be faced by a much larger group of masked figures, each of them undoubtedly surprised by his appearance, and evidently figuring out what they should do.
“GET HIM!” one of them roared, and all Harry could do was ready himself for the inevitable onslaught of what was to come, his wand poised, and his emotions surprisingly calm in the face of what could certainly spell the end of his war and fulfilment of the prophecy in the next moments to pass.
His first foray into battle without immediately being at a disadvantage had been interesting to say the least, and what followed still played on his mind more than two months later; some thoughts being those of frustration, and others filling him with pride at how he’d comported himself whilst facing such odds.
For now, however, Harry’s mind was elsewhere, pondering yet another matter he hoped would be solved in his favour, well, more for the benefit of a dying man who’d more than earned it over the years he’d srved the people of Britain.
(Break)
Unfortunately for Albus, his physical appearance was rather unique, and before he could even take a few steps in Harry’s wake to assist the eager young man, he found himself set upon by an equally keen foursome, who kept him busy enough for a moment or two that he lost sight and awareness of where his young charge had gotten to.
With some rather clever transfiguration, the Death Eaters were apprehended, clumped together in a tangle of limbs, without their wands.
Taking a moment to catch his bearings, he breathed a sigh of relief at the appearance of Alastor and dozens upon dozens of aurors, who immediately peeled off into groups to begin the arduous task of dispersing the Death Eaters they could not capture.
“You got here quickly,” the grizzled man commented.
Albus nodded in response, his gaze still searching for the wayward young man he’d brought along.
“What is it?”
“Harry was with me when Kingsley’s message came.”
“The boy is here?”
“Somewhere.”
Alastor chuckled amusedly.
“The lad can handle himself well enough. Come on, let’s not leave all the fun to the others.”
Albus followed the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, both of them pausing only after a moment of navigating their way through the chaos that had gripped the town centre.
“What the bloody hell was that?”
The wave of magic that washed over them was chilling, and the ground beneath their feet began to tremble before the drain covers lining the street were launched into the air by the force of the water bursting from below the ground.
Both could only look on as the water coalesced, forming into an enormous thestral that began cantering down the length of the road, growing in size at it gathered more water before rounding the corner just a short distance away.
“I think we have found where Harry is,” Albus commented, hurrying forward with his wand ready, rounding the same corner before coming to a halt once more at the sight of the thestral ploughing into a dumbstruck gathering of Death Eaters.
“Where did he learn to do that?”
Albus could only shake his head.
He and Harry had covered much together these past months, as had Severus with the boy, but none would’ve taught him how to wield such exceptional magic.
Albus had not even believed he was ready to do so, but how wrong had he been, and despite the severity of the situation, the brilliance brought a smile to his lips.
As ever, Harry proved to be full of surprises, but he was still heavily outnumbered, and needing assistance, which came in the form of Albus himself, Alastor, and the aurors the man commanded.
As much as it concerned him that Harry was so willing to throw himself into such a confrontation, it comforted Albus more that there was someone who could be absolutely relied upon to the lead charge against Tom and his forces when he was no longer around, which would be much sooner than any not in the know could ever expect.
The past weeks had been spent with Harry for the most part, preparing him for what he would soon be facing without Albus to guide him along the way. Not that he needed it.
No, somehow, Harry was already growing into the leadership role most would look to him to take, had led by example when he’d been given the opportunity to step up, and he had not been found wanting.
It brought a proud smile to Albus, even when he felt like grimacing from the discomfort of the curse that continued to ravage his body.
Still, it wasn’t quite his time to pass on yet, not before he and Harry had finished one final undertaking together that he had been so diligently working to unravel to ensure the young man’s task was just that little easier.
Nonetheless, Albus knew his time was coming to an end, that his body and magic were both failing him now and had been for much longer than he’d let on.
Had it not been Harry that night in Oldham…
He shook his head of those thoughts as he finished writing up his final wishes, his bequeathments, and thoughts of the life he’d lived.
No, now was not the moment he would pass, but he’d already said his goodbyes to those who mattered most to him who knew of his plight, and before his final exertion to see Harry’s path ahead lessened by one obstacle, he knew he must rest.
(Break)
Her instructions had ben simple enough.
She and her fellow Death Eaters were to make their way to Oldham, cause as much chaos as possible, and ascertain how quickly and with what force the aurors would arrive.
Well, it should’ve been simple, but the unexpected and fast arrival of Potter had certainly skewed her findings.
Bellatrix had not been nearby when he had done so, but coming upon the burning remains of one of the Dark Lord’s followers, and another that had been buried beneath a stack of brickwork, and yet another unconscious with every finger broken on both hands had left her in no doubt the boy meant business.
Even more surprising was the sight of the watery thestral bounding past her to where she could see that Potter had been surrounded, though certainly not disarmed or deterred from continuing with his own efforts to inflict violence upon them.
“AURORS!”
Her gaze snapped towards the red-clad group that seemed to be spilling from every direction, and Bellatrix bared her teeth hungrily, raising her wand, only for her spell to be intercepted by the old fool who’d also arrived.
She growled irritably before following up with a barrage of spells this time in a bid to occupy her former headmaster, who, as ever, proved himself to be an adept foe when it came to defend himself from curses.
“You continue to be a disappointment, Bellatrix,” he chided as though they were simply sharing a polite conversation.
She snarled in response as her wand spewed another offering and growled as it was blocked with little effort from the old fool, but Bellatrix did not miss the grimace of discomfort from Dumbledore.
With a frown, she continued with her efforts to either curse, dismember, or outright kill him, and though he was able to defend himself, those grimaces became more frequent, and his reactions were undoubtedly slowing down.
Something wasn’t right.
No, she had witnessed many encounters between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, and the man had never shown any sign of fatigue or discomfort, and Bellatrix certainly wasn’t anywhere near as powerful as her master.
Was Dumbledore sick?
As she took in his appearance whilst she pressed on, she saw the sheen of perspiration forming on his brow, and even how sluggish his movements were becoming as he defended himself.
Had he been poisoned?
Bellatrix could not be certain, but it was clear that Dumbledore was not himself, and even on the cusp of losing his composure entirely, which she would gleefully take advantage of.
A grin tugged at her lips as he began to lag, his movements becoming more laboured, and even his defences were becoming all the more taxing the more spells he was forced the fend off.
Bellatrix was positively salivating at the opportunity to put an end to the old man, and she could only imagine just how incredibly pleased the Dark Lord would be if she was able to return to him bearing the news of the man’s death.
Yes, she could see his smile now, hear his words of pride as he bestowed his affection upon her, and as she raised her wand a final time with his favoured spell on her lips, she shuddered in delight at the image of the great Albus Dumbledore falling to her wand, his lifeless eyes, and the grief that would grip the entire country.
Her own widened in euphoria, only for her jaw to clench as the spell was intercepted by the boy who’d somehow been responsible for her master’s fall, his own eyes matching the colour of the spell she’d unleashed hauntingly perfect.
“Potter!” she spat. “How dare you…”
Before she could even finish speaking, the boy hurled a plethora of spells towards her, and immediately, Bellatrix found herself in a very different fight altogether.
There was no fatigue in Potter, no hesitation, and he had no intention of simply chiding her for her choices in life. No, he wished to end it, and she felt her arm buckle violently under the strain of defending herself from his attack.
His power was quite something to behold for one so young, his choice of spells undoubtedly disapproved by the leader of the light, and yet, Potter paid the man no heed, gave him no second glance as he unleashed another myriad of spells that tested Bellatrix’s defences.
Of course, they were not breached, but his demeanour and willingness to inflict such violence and suffering left her taken aback, and she questioned just how much he had changed over the last year.
She had not forgotten that he had used the Cruciatus curse on her, that he’d wanted to inflict such suffering, but before that, his efforts whilst navigating the bowels of the Ministry of Magic had been left wanting.
She remembered how pathetically he’d used disarming and stunning spells against her and the others, how he and the others had fled from them, and just how inept the boy had been.
Had Dumbledore not arrived when he had after the Dark Lord’s own, Potter would undoubtedly already be dead, but here he was now, a much different boy than the one she’d faced a little under a year prior.
Still, he was just a boy, an inexperienced, stupid boy who’d picked the wrong fight to indulge in.
With a smirk tugging at her lips, Bellatrix offered her rebuttal, a choice selection from the Black family library, only to balk as Potter defended himself from each with exceptional deftness and confidence.
He knew.
Potter knew her family magic well enough that he was unfazed by it, and the smug grin adorning his features only served to send her into a blind rage. With a screech of fury, she unleashed another barrage of curses created and collected by the Blacks for several centuries, only for Potter to scupper her efforts to tear him limb from limb, the smile not shifting as he did so.
“You little shit!” Bellatrix hissed. “You have no right!”
Potter shrugged in response, and Dumbledore looked on mildly surprised by his aptitude, but it didn’t matter. So what if the boy had managed to learn enough to defend against the Black magic. Bellatrix was still a much better witch than he was wizard, and he would see that for himself, would see just how deep her knowledge of the Dark Arts went.
Raising her wand to teach him a lesson for his impudence, her own grin was back, but before she could even release her first offering, Potter struck, his wand a blur as he stalked towards her without fear.
She had become accustomed to all she faced doing so without such confidence, barely managing to maintain any composure knowing that they would scarcely survive a moment or two at best when Bellatrix Lestrange decided she was tired of toying with them.
Perhaps his bravado was false, or he was simply quite stupid, but no. Potter’s gaze was filled with unbridled hatred, his intentions clear, and the spells that came at her at a speed she had not expected each capable of tearing the final breath from her lungs should she falter just once.
That would not happen.
Bellatrix had been diligently trained by the Dark Lord for many years before she’d been locked up in Azkaban, and despite Potter’s undoubted desire to see her cease living, he could never hope to measure up.
Even so, as his relentless attack continued, it was clear that the boy was no slouch, that he too had delved into things most others would not, and Bellatrix could not deny that the chill of his magic was most unsettling, though much less so than when he halted his efforts to maim her.
With his nostrils flaring, he raised his arms, and her eyes widened and a trio of ghostly, cloaked figures rose from the ground just in front of them, each with a smoky chain around their necks that Potter held the other end of, preventing whatever it was he had conjured from hurtling forwards.
Bellatrix had never seen anything like it. Whatever was being hidden by the cloaks began to snarl as they attempted to break free from their bindings, and with a grin, Potter released them.
She shuddered at what had come next, the screams of her comrades that filled the air, and the fury of the Dark Lord after he had witnessed the memory of what had transpired for himself.
Still, that rage, that intoxicating anger he’d displayed was nothing compared to what had happened when he’d learned of Narcissa and Draco vanishing only a matter of days later.
That shudder that wracked her body this time was one of delight, but Bellatrix could not rid herself so easily of what Potter had done that night, and even now, her own wounds elicited the occasional wave of a cold so unpleasant, it was as though her blood and bones beneath the skin were turning to ice.
Nonetheless, their venture had mostly been successful, and Bellatrix would not deny that seeing Lucius in the state he was in these days didn’t bring her much joy.
Even so, her sister’s disappearance had reflected quite poorly on her too, and yet, despite her best efforts, she’d been unable to locate Narcissa and her wayward son.
Oh, they would be found.
There was none that could hide from the Dark Lord, after all.
(Break)
He tapped the tip of his finger impatiently on the arm of his chair. These past weeks, his patience had only worn thinner, and his anger more palpable as he considered what had happened the one and only time in recent months that he’d unleashed his Death Eaters upon the country.
He’d needed to understand the response he could expect, but the Dark Lord had not anticipated such a turn of events in Oldham. Of course, the aurors would arrive, as would the old fool and his band of incompetent followers, but for Potter to do so, and so brazenly, that was not something he had considered.
More times than he cared to count, he had ventured into the pensieve to view the memories of his own followers as to what had transpired, and the more times he did so, the less sense he could make of the changes within his foe.
Potter had always been courageous, that he would not deny, but that had been it. There had been no real demonstration of skill, or even of the required ruthlessness the boy would need to even have a shred of hope of surviving until he’d outwitted Crabbe and Goyle so callously.
According to Severus, the boy had been meek, unremarkable, and certainly showed no brilliance over the years that would explain how he could even begin to the impossible task of defeating Lord Voldemort.
Although that was still much the same, the Dark Lord had seen something rather unsettling, sensed something about Potter that would disquiet even the most ardent of wizards.
The magic he wielded was like nothing else he’d ever encountered, and the Dark Lord did not like unknowns.
Nonetheless, it mattered not. When all was said and done, it would be him who would emerge victorious from whatever it was fate had in store for them.
There was nothing Potter could do that could rid the world of him, not when he had taken so many steps to ensure his continued existence.
The thought brough a comforting smile to his lips, which only widened at the sight of the hobbling Lucius as he entered the room.
“My Lord,” he wheezed, wincing as he offered a pathetic bow.
“I do hope you have brought me welcome news, Lucius.”
The man grimaced as he nodded before adjusting the eye patch that covered his now empty socket. For his failure at keeping his wife and son in line, the Dark Lord had relieved him of it.
“There has been a suspected sighting of them in America, my lord. I seek your permission to search for them there. A contact of mine who. Have conducted business with many times was certain he saw them in Missouri. This man is reliable, my lord.”
“Then go Lucius,” the Dark Lord said dismissively, tired of his whimpering, complaining, and groaning whenever he was in his presence, “but you had better hope your contact proves to be as reliable as you say. I have grown weary of your failures.”
“Of course, my lord.”
He fled from the room as quickly as his damaged leg would let him, allowing Voldemort the peace he required to ponder his next moves.
With Dumbledore seemingly not himself, one small mercy he’d been granted, and with the aurors under the command of Alastor Moody of all people, it would be difficult to continue in the same vain and expect success.
No, he needed to be just a little more cunning, a little more subtle in his grasp for power, and though there were those among his followers that would not be so pleased by his decision, they could not deny the unmitigated disaster that their last venture had proven to be.
(Break)
“You’re certain of this?” Harry asked.
Albus offered the young man a resolute nod.
He and Harry may not have agreed about what he’d done that night when he’d unleashed whatever it was he had conjured on the Death Eaters, but the two of them had not forgotten that they were working together and had simply decided to not discuss it further than either sharing their thoughts without debate.
It meant that there had been something of a tension between them during the odd moments they were not focused on the task at hand, but they had continued on as they had been with Albus being left impressed with Harry’s progress.
“The night he was here to interview for the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, he left my office, and there was a period of time he was unaccounted for before I saw him exiting the grounds. I had only considered more recently that he may well have hidden a Horcrux here.”
“The chamber?”
“No, no, Tom would wish for someone to be able to find it, either one of his own followers, or an unwitting victim. Of course, he could not simply leave it where I might come across it,” Albus mused aloud, gesturing to the final staircase that led to the seventh floor.
“The Room of Requirement!”
Albus nodded gravely.
“I managed to speak with someone who confirmed that Tom convinced her to assist him in acquiring what he was looking for, and she can also confirm that he hid it within the room belonging to her mother.”
Harry frowned, and Albus took just a little in knowing something he did not.
“What we are looking for, Harry, is the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.”
The young man nodded.
“I shouldn’t be surprised that he managed to find it,” he sighed.
“You should not,” Albus chuckled, holding up a hand as he began coughing and Harry eyed him worriedly.
Walking up the stairs had been rather taxing on his weakened lungs.
“Not to worry,” he said dismissively. “I will be well enough in a moment.”
It was a lie he’d been repeating to himself and to Harry for the past few weeks now when both knew that it would not be so. With each day that came, Albus felt weaker than the last, and he knew that his time was almost at an end.
Harry offered him a sad smile, but did not comment on it. Instead, he paused in front of the blank stretch of wall that had served him and the rest of the students the year prior when they’d been practicing for their OWL exams.
With a frown, he began pacing backwards and forwards until a door appeared.
“Well, that answers my question.”
“it does?”
“Well, this door wouldn’t have materialised if I hadn’t asked it to provide the room Tom hid his Horcrux in. Shall we?”
Albus nodded as he drew his wand, and he felt his heart sink as they stepped into the room.
“This could take some time,” he murmured.
“No, it’s here,” Harry replied, closing his eyes.
“You can feel it?”
He nodded as he drew his own wand, and Albus followed as he began navigating his way through the stacks of broken furniture and other discarded items until he came to a stop before the bust of a warlock a short while later.
“And there it is.”
Albus could only nod as he looked upon a relic that had been lost for almost one thousand years, perhaps one of the greatest creations of one of the founders of this very school.
If it worked as intended, then it was a powerful artefact indeed, but given what Tom had done to it, Albus certainly would not recommend attempting to use it.
Levitating off the warlock’s head, Harry began inspecting the diadem, nodding gravely.
“It’s definitely one of them,” he declared.
Albus released a deep sigh as he removed the sword that had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor from within his robes. The hat had been kind enough to allow him to use it, for now.
“I’ll do it,” Harry offered, holding out his hand.
Albus handed him the sword, and the rather pivotal moment became quite anticlimactic as he cleaved the diadem in two, and both covered their ears as a scream of protest rent the air.
“Another one down.”
With only the snake and the cup to go,” Albus murmured apologetically.
“Any thoughts?”
“None that will fill you with joy, I’m afraid,” Albus sighed. “Alastor assures me that everything within the Lestrange home has been searched thoroughly, and there is not a sign of it.”
“It won’t be there.”
“Those are my thoughts exactly. No, it is my belief that Bellatrix has placed it in the one place that only she or Tom himself could retrieve it.”
Harry frowned and cursed under his breath as he put the pieces together.
“The most secure place in the country outside of Hogwarts. He already broke into it before.”
“Indeed.”
“So, I will have to do the same. It’s not as though the goblins will hand It over.”
“They will not, but I suspect that wonderful cloak of yours will be most useful. I’m only sorry that I will be unable to assist you,” Albus chuckled, grimacing once more.
“How long?” Harry asked pointedly.
Pulling his robes to expose his collarbone, the tendrils of black magic were already so very close to his heart that Albus was surprised he hadn’t perished.
“I would say another day or so at most. I can feel it, Harry. The end is near for me.”
The young man nodded and murmured something Albus did not hear under his breath.
“Then there is a conversation for us to have. There are things you must know, Professor, and I would tell you of them before your time comes.”
“That sounds rather ominous.”
“It is, and even more difficult to believe, even for me. Do you remember when I told you that I had visited Godric’s Hollow and I asked about the Peverells, and then your family.”
“I do.”
“Well, I wasn’t just being nosy. There was a reason I asked for your advice, and it has helped more than you could ever imagine. Anyway, I suppose I should start where it all began almost a year ago with more dreams that I had. Nothing to do with Riddle, but something else entirely.”
(Break)
It had been a near miss.
He’d known for months now that Dumbledore would soon no longer be among them, but Hary had not imagined that he would see the man so vulnerable.
He had looked on with concern as Bellatrix had inundated him with every unpleasant curse imaginable, and how he had become weaker and weaker, struggling to defend himself from the onslaught.
Seeing no other course of action, he had intervened on the man’s behalf, and just in time to prevent him from being cut down where he stood.
It had been a sobering moment for Harry to see Dumbledore in such a position, and a stark reminder that, despite all he’d done, the reputation he had carved for himself, just like him, he was still only human.
Fortunately, shortly after he and Bellatrix had begun exchanging spells, as ever, what little courage the Death Eaters possessed had failed them, and they had begun to flee.
He’d read in The Daily Prophet the following morning that only seven had been apprehended, and four had been killed. Of course, his presence had been remarked upon, but his involvement downplayed, likely due to Scrimgeour, who had not taken kindly to his presence.
Still, thoughts of the Minister of Magic and what had transpired in Oldham were far from Harry’s mind. No, he cared little for the man in charge of the country, nor what happened. That was for the Ministry to concern themselves with, especially when Harry’s thoughts were elsewhere.
“Come Death, come,” he murmured.
Although the pull for him to once more venture to the other world he’d become familiar with was growing, it was not quite time for his return, but Harry had come to the church at Godric’s Hollow, nonetheless, to seek both comfort and favour from the figure he had pledged himself to.
“The time has not yet come, Peverell.”
Harry nodded and bowed his head.
“I know. I’m here to ask you something, a favour if it is possible.”
“Then speak, Peverell.”
“Dumbledore is dying, and he doesn’t have long left.”
“He does not.”
“I would like to be able to show him what I have been doing. I would like for him to see that there is place that things happened differently for him, that his mother, father, and sister are still alive somewhere. I think it would allow him to pass on more peacefully, and if there is anyone who has earned it, it is him.”
He kept his head bowed whilst the cloaked figure scrutinised him.
“You would grant him that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Can you truly profess to know him? I thought you had grown, Peverell. You still believe that Albus Dumbledore is…”
“No,” Harry interjected. “I don’t think he is perfect. He made mistakes with me, and lots of others I can think of. We don’t agree on everything, but he has given more to the people of Britain than most others, and he deserves to pass as peacefully as possible, even with all the mistakes he’s made. I’m not so stupid or naïve anymore.”
“No, but there is much you do not know about the man, but I expect you will soon enough. I will grant your request, Peverell, but I have my conditions, and there will be a price to pay.”
Harry nodded his understanding.
“Name them.”
Dumbledore was bewildered by his tale and staring at Harry in a state of disbelief. He did so for several moments before shaking his head, a tear rolling down his cheek and into beard.
“Once again, Harry, you have shown that all we believed about magic and what is possible means nothing when it comes to you. I am truly lost for words, but equally, it explains a lot.”
Harry nodded as he shrunk the portraits of the Peverell brothers and placed them back within the trunk he’d placed them in.
Telling the headmaster everything that had happened these past months had been exhausting, but he knew he’d done the right thing.
“You said there would be conditions to me going with you.”
Harry released a deep breath.
“I will need the stone. It will be used for transporting your soul to the other side. When we are there, you will be granted only three days. Your mother and the others will be unable to see or hear you, but you will be able to speak with me for the duration. When your time is up…”
He broke off and released another deep breath.
“When your time is up, you are to submit yourself to Death so that your soul can be claimed. I cannot bring you back here once you leave.”
“I see,” Albus murmured, losing himself in his thoughts whilst he stroked Fawkes’ plumage.
Harry watched the man, how his hands trembled continuously, how the entirety of his right arm had blackened, and just how weak and frail he’d become in the last few weeks.
“I would like to see it, Harry,” the man spoke once more. “I would like to see what could’ve been had I been able to help my sister.”
His eyes were filled with an abject sadness as he spoke of her, but there was a sparkle of hope, of longing, and almost of pleading that the offer being made to him was not being done so in jest.
“Then if there is anything else you need to do, you should do so. Your body will not last much longer, Professor,” Harry urged, his final word just catching a little in his throat.
“There is just one other thing,” Dumbledore replied as he removed his wand from within his sleeve. “You know of the stone and the cloak and have undoubtedly heard of this.”
Harry nodded, and the headmaster stared at the length of wood forlornly.
“I expect it will serve you better than any other, Harry. It came into my possession many years ago, and although it has been loyal, it never truly belonged to me. Would pass it over to you to ensure that it remains as safe as I have kept it, and so that it might serve you well.”
Harry nodded as he accepted the elder wand, the intoxicating power he felt filling him as incredible as it was bittersweet with the knowledge he possessed.
Dumbledore offered him an encouraging smile whilst fighting off another grimace.
“That was the last thing I needed to do. Everything else is in order, and my final instructions will be carried out. I am to be laid to rest with my family here.”
“But not before you see what could’ve been.”
The man’s smile was hopeful as he removed the ring from his blackened hand and placed it on the desk before he shared a few words with Fawkes, who trilled mournfully.
“I would see my end come with a little dignity, Harry, as an old man who perished in his sleep. If you could assist me to my room, it would be most appreciated.”
With a nod, Harry stood and offered his arm whilst he retrieved the ring, shuddering from the foreboding magic radiating from it.
This was not like the cloak or the wand, but something unto itself. The magic was indeed Death’s, but a much less pleasant sensation than either of the other two had given him.
Still, it was to serve a purpose here and now, and as he helped Dumbledore into is bed, the headmaster released a groan of discomfort.
“Will it hurt much, Harry?” he asked.
He tried to keep his voice steady, but as with all men who did not understand Death the way Harry did, there was undeniable hint of fear in it, and Harry gave his uncursed hand a squeeze, doing his utmost to maintain his composure.
It saddened him to see Dumbledore in such a state; so weak and so vulnerable that it seemed gentle breeze would reduce him to dust. Oh, he would mourn for the man he had come to admire, would undoubtedly shed his share of tears, as would the entirety of Great Britain, but in this moment, he knew he needed to be strong for him.
“It will be just like falling asleep, Professor,” he assured the man, “and when you wake up, there will be no more pain, and no more curse. It will all be over.”
Dumbledore was comforted by the words and nodded in response, using his blackened hand to wipe awa a few more tears that fell.
“Life is a strange thing, Harry. It comes and goes in a blink of an eye before we can truly appreciate the beauty of simply living. Well, I am ready for it to end. I am weary of the good and the bad, but know I leave it all in the very best of hands.”
His words were sincere, and Harry could find none of his own. Instead, he braced himself for what he was to do before resting his hand on Dumbledore’s chest and bowed his head.
“Come Death, come,” he whispered pleadingly, and almost immediately, the figure answered his call as they had agreed upon.
The presence swept briefly through the room, and Albus Dumbledore passed on peacefully, his soul being lent to the ring that adorned Harry’s finger.
“Rest in peace, Professor,” Harry choked as he stood, taking just a moment to close the lids of the eyes of undoubtedly one of the greatest wizards to live in recent history.