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Chapter 68: The Ones We Trust.
🕑 Added 2025-07-08 10:26:41 +0000 UTCAuthor’s Note:
I tried... really, I did, my friends. This chapter fought me harder than you can imagine, but it’s finally done. I like it, though it might still be missing something. I’m not sure. I’m tired... but I fulfilled my promise.
Next up is the final battle. It officially begins next chapter, so at least we’re nearly there. I’ll try to write whenever I can.
Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you all enjoy this one!
Celestial Ascendancy
Chapter 68: The Ones We Trust.
Ministry of Magic, London.
Albus Dumbledore.
I clutched my right arm and grimaced. The blood kept flowing, no matter how many spells I sent its way. It was clear that whatever curse Tom had used was something I couldn't stop in the short term.
Young Alaric stood beside me with a deep frown. He was panting and sweating buckets, but I kept him in my line of sight at all times.
Something about this situation felt wrong. I could feel it deep in my old bones.
I shared a glance with young Alaric and took a deep breath when he nodded firmly. His eyes lit up like stars as he clapped his hands twice, a magic circle forming behind him.
Tens of metallic chains, which were much sturdier than they looked, sprang forth, moving erratically but all aimed toward the flying figure in the distance.
Voldemort hadn’t even graced us with his immediate presence, apparently deciding that throwing spells from above was more entertaining. Or at least, that’s what I assumed, since the infuriating smirk hadn’t left his face for even a second.
He huffed as he hovered in the air, launching spells every so often, sometimes from his wand, sometimes from a sudden, sporadic magic circle.
“I hope this works,” I murmured, almost amused.
It felt… freeing. Knowing the fact that even if I were to die today, someone would be there to protect the people of the Wizarding World.
Young Elias was not exactly what I envisioned the leader of our people would be, but something in him… created hope, for lack of a better word. I was ready to give my life, knowing that he wouldn’t let our people suffer. I, at least, knew that much.
Training with young Elias’s group had been… fun, if I do say so myself. And it showed me that I still had room for improvement.
Was I stronger? Not in raw magical power. But the new ways I’d learned to wield my magic had made me far more dangerous than before. And right now, I wasn’t feeling merciful.
It was a feeling that I thought I would never have in my old age, but what Voldemort had done ignited the fire inside my heart for one last time.
The fact that two important locations in Wizarding Britain were under attack infuriated me, and that wasn’t even counting Tom’s decision to unleash every dementor he could into the Muggle world.
No, my anger couldn’t be put into words.
“Are you ready, Headmaster Dumbledore?” Alaric Macmillan asked softly, and my eyes sharpened.
There was something different about this young man… and I wasn’t sure I liked it.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and at least he was helping me right now.
He, too, was similar to young Elias. That charisma the two of them had… it was unnatural.
But I knew Elias. I’d watched him grow into an admirable young man.
That was not the case here.
“Do it,” I said firmly, nodding once. He clapped his hands again.
From the ends of the remaining chains Voldemort hadn’t destroyed, smaller fire hydras spawned, writhing like snakes before latching onto the Dark Lord, binding him tighter with their sharp teeth and deadly heat.
Voldemort snarled in fury, his face twisting in rage. Whatever magic Mister Macmillan learned while living abroad was working, and working too well.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, choosing to trust this young man to watch my back. My wand moved in almost random patterns. This wasn’t the time for incantations.
No. I was willing my magic to act, as wizards were always meant to.
My reserves drained faster than I expected. Far quicker, but I pushed on. When I finally opened my eyes, I allowed myself a brief but satisfied smile.
A mirror shimmered into existence before me, conjured from nothing. It was nearly translucent, a ghostly thing that looked eerie even to my eyes, but I ignored it. My preparations were complete.
With another breath, I flicked my wand toward Voldemort. The ceiling above him exploded under my Bombarda after he pushed himself out of the way with a gust of wind. A second flick, and every shard of rubble that began to fall shifted and twisted midair.
Spears, swords, and lances, to name a few. Everything my imagination could muster reshaped into lethal weaponry. Voldemort’s struggle intensified, but with a single downward motion of my wand, I increased the localized gravity, and my arsenal dropped.
Some of them struck.
From this distance, I could see them hit, skewering him through limbs and cloth, magic and bone. He looked like a pincushion.
Alaric snorted beside me, but then both of us froze. Our eyes widened almost in unison as a wave of oppressive magic surged across the battlefield.
We exchanged an urgent glance.
I grimaced and Apparated away. Voldemort’s first blast had already disabled the wards across the Atrium, and now, for once, that worked in our favor.
I watched curiously as the detonation met the translucent mirror and cocked an eyebrow when the blast didn’t ripple outward, but instead folded inward, consumed utterly by the surface like water sinking into dry parchment.
Willing something into existence and allowing whatever sentience our magic had to fill the gaps. It was something we found with Miss Seekvaira Agares, Granger, and Delacour.
Brilliant minds, unshackled by the constraints of centuries old traditions had changed the way I saw magic.
We wizards were different… and our magic was peculiar, too. Unlike normal magicians, our magic was alive and capable of doing its own thing.
From within that mirror, something moved.
A figure stepped out of the warped reflection, walking as if the gravity held no authority over him. Alaric gasped beside me while Tom looked almost impressed.
It was me.
Or rather, a younger version of myself. One pulled from memory or magic or perhaps something deeper. His beard was still long, though tinged with a vibrant auburn instead of silver, and his eyes burned with energy I hadn’t seen in any mirror in decades.
“Fascinating,” I murmured to no one in particular.
Voldemort exploded outward from the debris with a thunderous snarl, his eyes alight with fury as he sent a shockwave of raw magic that ripped through the air like a scream. The floor of the Atrium shattered beneath his will, and with a single wordless shout, he brought it all down.
Some pillars cracked, and every statue fell to the ground. The very ceiling above us became a storm of stone and death.
Alaric moved, and within a single breath, multiple magic circles actualized under everyone foolish enough to stay in the Atrium, teleporting them away. He staggered in his place.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked, almost incredulous. He was panting, and sweat matted his temple.
I chuckled. I was filled with so much glee that I couldn’t help it. I lifted my eyebrow at him and pointed with my chin towards the Atrium.
The mirror was gone… but he was not.
My other self moved like lightning. A transfigured platform caught his feet midair as the floor gave way. With a twist of his translucent wand, the rubble Voldemort hurled at him froze in midair, then reversed, transfiguring into a flock of obsidian birds that screamed as they dove back toward the Dark Lord.
Each of those birds had diamond-made beaks, with tiny teeth capable of tearing through stone with ease.
Voldemort raised his wand, incinerating most, but not all.
The younger me was already on the move again. A shattered beam twisted at his command into a gilded spear, one he launched with such precision that it pierced Voldemort’s shoulder clean through, anchoring him to a marble column behind.
“Did you…” Alaric blinked owlishly. “Did you split your magic? No… that’s not it. That mirror, was it temporal? Memory-based?”
I didn’t answer.
In truth, I wasn’t entirely sure myself. But I had always suspected that Transfiguration... true Transfiguration, was never just about changing shape. No, it was so much more. If you decided to look at the branch of magic in a simpler way, Transfiguration was making the world change under your will.
A smirk tugged at my lips as I whispered under my breath, “A Dumbledore of forty years ago, with all the knowledge I’ve accumulated in over a century.”
And the duel began in earnest.
The younger Dumbledore wove spell after spell, each one a masterclass in creative war magic. Conjured and real smoke turned to chains. Sound itself warped into concussive force. For every curse Voldemort launched, a concept replied. Such a marvelous way of using magic, I couldn't help but clench my hand around my wand tightly.
Alaric’s eyes remained locked forward, his voice small. “That’s terrifying.”
“Yes,” I said lightly. “I quite agree.”
Voldemort grimaced and finally dropped to the floor. He let out a wordless scream as his magic exploded outward, freezing and burning the terrain at once, gravity increasing or diminishing unpredictably. Mouths formed from the floor, snapping at my doppelgänger.
The younger me fought valiantly, but neither he nor I could sustain a battle of this magnitude, and Voldemort seized the opportunity to launch his final attack.
With a single wave of his hand, everything around them froze. The younger Dumbledore faltered, his legs completely encased in ice. Voldemort panted, glaring balefully at him as the cuts on his own arms and legs began to close at visible speed.
“You thought this would work, Dumbledore?” he shouted, and I knew everyone in the Ministry heard him. “You’re just a relic of a bygone era! This is my time. I. AM. LORD. VOLDEMORT!”
With his final shout, he placed his hands on my younger self’s head, and he began to warp. His skin boiled, his face melting little by little as he tried to move and attack, but Voldemort stopped him with ease.
Young Alaric sighed beside me and cracked his neck with a pop. “It was a good try, Headmaster. At least we managed to rest for a couple of minutes.”
My lips curled outward, and I suddenly felt lightheaded, but the smile stayed on my face.
My magical pool halved instantly... but the younger Dumbledore began morphing again. His flesh reformed. Slowly at first, then rapidly. Within seconds, he was whole again, and he smirked almost ferally.
He waved his hand, cleaving off his own legs where they were frozen. His torso fell to the ground as he vomited a copious amount of blood. I felt my reserves dip again as new legs sprouted from the stumps.
“It seems you’ve got it all under control,” Alaric mused with a strange smile. “My reserves are still low. What do you think if we make one final attack before we check the other attacked sites? We aren’t doing anything substantial to this bastard... we might as well help where we can.”
I looked at him curiously, my eyes locking with his... but I felt as if his mind wasn’t even there.
“I’ll follow your lead,” I sighed, knowing he spoke the truth. I didn't trust him before, but alarms were blaring inside my head the longer I fought beside him.
He gave me that same mysterious smile before simply nodding. “I’ll teleport to Diagon Alley after our attack. You should go to Manchester.”
“Now,” I muttered.
Alaric nodded sharply. The moment our eyes met, we moved.
His spell was fast, faster than I expected. A golden sphere of compressed gravity bloomed in his palm before he launched it forward. At the same time, I raised my wand and transfigured the shattered tiles beneath Voldemort into a barrage of molten spears.
They collided midair.
Gravity crushed from above as the molten storm rained down from the sides, and Voldemort was caught. He let out a scream as the pressure twisted his limbs unnaturally, his shield fracturing under the sheer layered force.
We saw it. A true injury. His left arm was gone. His ribs were crushed. His mouth twisted into something between agony and rage.
Alaric took one step back, panting lightly. “That’ll leave a mark,” he said with a crooked smile.
Then he vanished, leaving me alone to check for the survivors before heading to Manchester as he suggested.
I blinked tiredly, my chest rising and falling as the adrenaline began to crash through me. My magic was almost depleted, and my legs trembled.
That’s when I heard it.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
I turned sharply.
Scrimgeour stood there in the wreckage, dust clinging to his Auror robes, his face calm but his gaze… strange.
Too calm after watching a duel that would be known through the ages.
Then his eyes flashed red.
The sound of bone twisting echoed in the empty chamber as his body began to warp. His face smoothed as the scars he had received during the first attack disappeared, and his hair grew sleek and black. Within seconds, Rufus Scrimgeour was gone.
In his place stood a Tom Riddle, completely unharmed..
He smirked, then pointed with his chin at the body we’d just left in the debris, the one we’d thought we’d gotten.
It was shifting.
The arm regrew far too fast. Tom's face now contorted into a grotesque, rotting version of Scrimgeour’s. His skin peeled back like paper. One eye hung loose, blackened veins webbing across his skull.
“I must say,” Voldemort drawled, stepping forward casually, “it was draining, controlling that man for so long. An impressive mind for a blunt instrument.”
"Such an inefficient way to use magic," He snorted harshly, "But seeing the hope vanish from the eyes of everyone is something else. Even you, Headmaster."
He tilted his head mockingly. “But you fell for it. All of it.”
I raised my wand, but it was too late.
Voldemort’s spell struck me like Young Elias's light.
Pain exploded across my face.
I hit the ground, screaming, hand flying to my eye. Blood poured between my fingers. My vision blurred into red before going blank. I could barely think through the pain.
He crouched beside me, voice a whisper in my remaining ear.
“They always leave you, don’t they? Alaric. Grindelwald. Even your precious Order. Just like your sister, you'll die alone.”
He sneered, “You’re always the last one standing. The one left to bury the others. That's why you won't die fast, old man. But I will take your greatest gift back.”
I couldn’t move. Hell, I could barely breathe as I felt Tom putting his hand on my chest, and I felt an uncomfortable heat, before I felt something crack.
And for a moment… I was content. Maybe this was where it ended. One last failure. But this time it was different... I had someone to take my place, even if he didn't want it.
“Hold on, old man!” a voice cried mournfully.
Strong arms lifted me. I caught a flash of pink hair with teary eyes before I closed my remaining eye.
Everything tilted. The world turned sideways.
And then darkness took me.
Elias Black.
Diagon Alley.
I arrived in a flash of fire at the ruined Diagon Alley. The place I had visited countless times since being admitted to Hogwarts was in shambles. Places that held dear memories... my wand from Ollivanders, the pet shop with its adorable animals, Florean’s ice cream, and its fun jokes.
All of it was either burning or destroyed.
I flashed a bit away from the large gathering of people, not bothering to contain my magic. I felt... off after Manchester. Like something I once held dear had vanished. It was almost disorienting.
The girls looked at me with varying expressions... happiness, anger, even disappointment. I smiled sadly.
I walked toward them steadily, each step cracking the asphalt before it mended itself beneath my feet. My magic was acting on its own, but I appreciated it. I had seen far too much destruction lately. I was tired of it.
With every step, more eyes turned my way. My enhanced senses picked up the hairs on every goblin in the crowd standing on end, their small bodies twitching the closer I got. Each footfall of mine brought a shiver or a clench around their weapons.
I waved my hand almost absentmindedly, and my magic responded. The ground mended. Fires were snuffed out. Rubble returned to its original shape. By the time I reached the girls, the place looked as if nothing had happened.
Hermione was the first to throw herself into my arms, sobbing quietly into the crook of my neck. I breathed in the scent of her hair before pulling her closer under my left arm. Iris came next, running to my right and hugging me tightly. She wasn’t crying, but the seriousness on her face told me more than tears ever could.
Fleur walked calmly toward me and kissed my cheek.
“Are you all fine, loves?” I asked, letting my healing magic flow outward to everyone I could see.
Iris shivered under my arm before snuggling closer.
“We’re fine, Eli. Well... as fine as we can be after seeing this,” Fleur replied softly, her eyes drifting toward a nearby corpse.
I followed her gaze.
Even under the charred flesh and horrific injuries, I recognized him. Moody.
I closed my eyes tightly. I hadn’t known him well, but… I had known him. His death was upsetting, to say the least.
“How?” I asked somberly.
Iris sighed almost angrily, “Bellatrix got him from behind before we arrived. He’d holed himself up in Florean’s with some survivors. He was waiting for a chance to strike and the insane fucker almost got her, too. But she had a trinket. It saved her life and gave her just enough time to kill him before we could do anything.”
“Fucking Malfoy,” Sirius spat, approaching slowly. Remus stayed behind, watching me with a complicated expression as his nails sharpened.
I waved at him, smiling despite everything. “Where’s the bastard? Did he run again?”
“Nah,” Iris replied with a sharp smirk. “Padfoot got him, he blew a hole straight through his chest.”
Hermione hugged me tighter. I just patted her head softly.
“And my dear aunt?” I drawled, already locking eyes with the insane woman who was foaming at the mouth and grinning like she hadn’t lost.
“You’re no family of mine, you bastard!” she snarled, spit flying from her mouth.
“You took the words right out of my mouth, Bellatrix,” I shot back, eyes locked onto hers. The bound figures around her shivered, trying to shrink under my glare, but she didn’t flinch. She just got angrier.
“No family of mine would support that bastard. Do you have any idea what he just did in Manchester? HOW MANY PEOPLE DIED?” My voice cracked as I lost my temper.
Bellatrix only cackled as more and more people Apparated in. I ignored them.
“Innocent people died!” I kept walking, blood pounding in my ears. There was a dull throb behind my eyes, but I didn’t stop.
I marched straight toward her and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her clean off the ground.
“People who knew nothing about us!” I spat in her face. “Adults who didn’t believe in magic! CHILDREN WHO DID!”
“They’re nothing compared to us!” she screeched, spitting in my face. My magic surged, and the spit burned away, along with the flesh on her hands. She didn’t even scream as they blistered and peeled. She just laughed harder after a brief scowl.
“We are the ones who matter! The ones with magic in our veins! Our families that are centuries old, if not millennia!” she screamed with madness-filled eyes.
“You think we’re better because we have magic?” I hissed, my voice practically dripping venom as every single bottled feeling exploded.
“Of course we are,” she croaked, her face purpling under my grip. “We are more. We deserve more. Not to live hidden from them!”
I dropped her to the ground with a thud and looked past her to the prisoners who had been nodding along. The fact that their eyes shined in pride pissed me off more than anything else.
I felt the girls, along with Sirius and even Remus, walk toward me worriedly.
I shook my head sadly.
“Deathloop,” I murmured.
The dome appeared around us, blocking everyone from interfering, and I nodded at the prisoners.
“Do you all believe you’re better just because we’re wizards?” I asked the bound people. I didn’t let them respond as I paced around them, the throb in my head intensifying with every step.
I was feeling irritable, and these bastards weren’t helping.
They looked alarmed as the dome finished forming, the soft humming of runes settling into place. The three weak points on my body lit up in response. My stomach glowed gold, along with the back of my left leg and my wrist.
“Let me tell you something,” I said, my voice rising above the low murmurs that began to spread. Some were defiant. Others were simply afraid, “What your leader did tonight was inexcusable. I don’t care if you believe in your cause, or if you’ve wrapped your hatred in some delusion of purity.”
Someone tried to shout back, but I silenced them with a glance. A few others followed. Some began throwing accusations, justifications, and others even begging for their lives. I didn’t stop them. I just listened, arms crossed, until the noise began to blur together.
Eventually, I sighed and stopped walking.
My eyes swept over them before coming to a decision.
I looked at them, really looked, and let a twinge of sadness show, just for a second.
Then I nodded once, and my magic surged.
Bellatrix was yanked upward without warning, her scream cut off as an invisible force lifted her high into the air. Her body spasmed, twitching wildly as crackling energy spiraled around her.
“The magic you all speak so highly about…” I said softly, “It would be horrified by what you’ve done in its name.”
She thrashed, foaming at the mouth.
“Magic is a gift. I’m not telling you to use it for them. But you are no better for having it.”
The prisoners fell silent, and I could see how everyone outside stopped whatever they were doing and paid attention.
“So…” I whispered, raising my hand as light pooled around my fingertips, “let magic itself judge you.”
Then I let go.
The air shifted as the very place screamed. My Aetherius flared out in all directions, so intense I was surprised a sun had not spawned under my anger.
Some of the vampires didn’t even have time to react. They turned to ash mid-breath, their bodies crumbling where they stood.
Werewolves howled, some collapsing and writhing in pain. Others stilled, their fur shedding as clarity returned to their eyes, limbs shrinking back into human form. Whatever subconscious I had, or even my magic itself, decided to cleanse them.
But not all.
A wizard in the back began to glow faintly, then seized violently, his body ripping itself apart in midair before disintegrating into nothingness.
Bellatrix shone like the sun. Her body bloated grotesquely as magic was forced into her through her pores, her veins, her very own tainted soul. Her eyes went wide as my light poured from them. Then from her nose, and finally her mouth.
Then she burst.
Not with gore, but with my blinding, divine light.
I could feel someone attacking the dome from the outside, but I focused on the remaining survivors. The ones who were crying their eyes out, looking genuinely sorrowful.
“I did not want any of this to happen,” I told them quietly as all of them looked at me like I was something alien, “Believe me, I didn’t. But I will finish this. This war will stop, and Voldemort will die for good. I don’t know why my magic decided to spare you all… but consider this the only time you will be allowed to leave.”
“Stay put… serve your punishment and come back when the people in charge decide you have done enough. The dementors are gone… make sure your last selves are too.”
I lowered my shield, and the shouts from the outside greeted my ears. The girls ran toward me, looking worried for me, but I just shook my head firmly. Out of forty or fifty prisoners, only eight were left. A single vampire, two werewolves, and five wizards. I had killed the rest… No, I killed everyone here.
These people left crying... they were no longer the same as before, or at least I hoped they wouldn't be.
The remaining prisoners kept crying almost silently, all of them either looking at the floor in shame or at me almost reverently. I kept my true feelings hidden as the girls hugged me.
“I’m fine,” I sighed before I frowned, looking at the new arrival.
“Don’t you think it was too harsh? They couldn’t defend themselves! They were unarmed!” Alaric Macmillan shouted at me with fire in his voice and a crowd trailing in his wake.
I didn’t flinch.
“They were bound and captured! They had been defeated!” he continued, planting himself firmly between me and the survivors. “You executed them without trial, Black, without process. That’s not justice. That’s tyranny! The very thing we're fighting against.”
Some people behind him nodded, whispering words like "abuse of power," "execution," and "dangerous precedent."
Others remained silent, looking at the bodies —or more accurately, at the empty spots where bodies used to be—and nodded at me respectfully.
I simply looked at the man sprouting bullshit, “You wanted the Ministry to decide?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “The same Ministry they helped burn down two hours ago?”
Alaric’s jaw clenched so tight I heard his teeth crack, “We have laws for a reason! We are not like them.”
I took a step forward, and the air around me pulsed, though I kept my magic suppressed.
“They were monsters. And I didn’t make that decision lightly. If my magic had wanted them dead for revenge… I wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re not the law, Elias.” He spat out.
“No,” I agreed quietly. “I’m not.”
The survivors behind me wept like haunted and broken children. They were changed. They didn’t even flinch now. They just watched in silence.
“But neither are you,” I added.
That silenced him for a moment.
“I know what this looks like,” I continued, my voice quiet but clear as everyone listened while more and more people gathered around the two of us. “But tell me… if you had seen what I saw in Manchester, if you heard the children screaming, the souls being devoured... would you have stopped to read them their rights?”
Alaric opened his mouth, but I raised a hand.
“I don’t answer to fear, Alaric. Or my own guilt for not doing more.” I turned to the crowd. “I answer to the people I could save. And I won’t apologize for that. I did this so that they won't harm anyone else while I breathe.”
A murmur ran through the bystanders. Some nodded slowly, others shook their heads angrily.
“He’s right,” someone whispered near the front, a witch clutching her wand so tight I could see her knuckles whitening. “They would’ve killed us.”
“But it’s not his place!” another snapped.
“We’d be dead if his people hadn’t come at all!” a goblin barked before he nodded his head respectfully at me. His spear spearing the floor before the rest of his kind followed suit.
Alaric looked between them, seeing the division. He tried one last time.
“We cannot let power dictate morality. Not even when it’s dressed up as justice.”
“I’m not dressed as justice,” I said neutrally. “I’m covered in blood. And after I'm done? I will fight to not drown in it.”
And with that, I turned away.
Let him rally whoever he wanted. Let them argue, shout, condemn. I had work to do.
“Iris. Hermione. Fleur,” I said quietly, and the girls followed.
Behind me, the people were still choosing sides.
But I had things to do.
Elias Black.
Hogwarts.
Much to my surprise, instead of arriving at the Room of Requirement as I intended, Ash deposited us in the infirmary. I looked ahead, almost already knowing what to expect.
Even then… fearing and seeing were different things. I glanced at the old man as he lay down on a bed while Madam Pomfrey looked over him worriedly with Asia at her side.
The petite blonde was crying her eyes out as the light of her Sacred gear disappeared from the Old man's body. We walked hurriedly towards the bed, and my eyes widened seeing the state he was in.
His body was hurt badly. He had deep cuts, and some of it was even rotting, but Asia’s healing took care of that, much to my relief. No, what shocked me the most was that I could feel his magical energy trickle down without stopping.
Dumbledore’s left eye was bandaged, soaked red where the cloth met the socket.
I blinked, trying to keep my composure, but the sight made something tighten in my chest.
Madam Pomfrey turned just as we approached, her shoulders trembling slightly in relief. “Thank Merlin you’re here,” she whispered. “But... it may already be too late.”
She turned back toward the bed and wiped her face with trembling fingers before breathing deeply. “His eye... There was a curse laced into the spell that struck him. It didn’t just blind him; it began eating away at the surrounding flesh. Asia’s healing helped slow it, but she’s not strong enough yet. The curse resisted her magic and mine.”
She looked down at Dumbledore again, and her voice trembled.
“If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I think it would have reached his brain in the next few minutes.”
My jaw clenched tightly.
“What about his magic?” I asked, already dreading the answer. “I can feel it’s leaking.”
Pomfrey nodded sadly, her eyes red. “I’ve seen this before. Slow decay, maybe a fracture in the outer part of our being. But this…” She hesitated, and a tear finally slid down her cheek. “His core is cracked, Elias. Too deep. I don’t even know how he’s alive. Whatever Voldemort hit him with... It wasn't meant to kill him. It was worse. It will destroy his memory, his legacy.”
I looked at the girls. All of them were watching me worriedly, but with a bit of hope.
I sighed before nodding once.
“I’ll try,” I said quietly as I stepped forward.
Pomfrey moved aside without protest.
I took a breath and closed my eyes, focusing inward. My magic stirred immediately.
I reached deeper, brushing against the reservoir of healing energy I’d nurtured over time. It wasn’t the same as the Aetherius, but it was compatible.
I pressed one hand gently over the bandage covering his eye, the other over his heart. I could feel it now; it was precisely where his magic bled out the fastest.
The air shimmered as I called on more. A soft golden glow bled into the room, wrapping around my fingers, then into his body. I felt my forehead burning in a strange shape, but I continued without protest.
I poured in all I could.
It wasn’t enough.
Minutes passed before I finally stepped back, shaking my head. My head was hurting, but I tried to hide it the best I could.
“How is he?” Hermione asked urgently from my side.
I exhaled slowly. “I stopped the curse in his eye. There’s no more decay… but the damage is done. The flesh is gone, and I... ” I hesitated, then shook my head. “I can’t regrow what’s not there.”
Pomfrey’s face twisted with anguish. “But you did regenerate Xenophilius’s fingers. I saw it with my own eyes!” she cried. “They grew back like nothing! Why can’t you do it now? Albus...”
“I don’t know,” I said gently, even as my heart twisted. “I truly don’t. Maybe something aligned that day. Maybe the ward helped… maybe magic itself chose to restore him.” I smiled sadly. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t me. I’m sorry.”
She turned away with trembling shoulders.
I looked down at the old man again. His breathing was calmer now. His core… it was sealed, at least. But something felt off.
“I healed the fracture on his core, somehow,” I said slowly. “It won’t collapse. But it’s like…” I searched for the words. “Like a cracked glass that’s been glued back together. It’ll hold water. But it’ll never hold more than it did before. The parts that spilled are gone.”
Hermione sniffled. Fleur gently rested a hand on Pomfrey’s shoulder.
“I think he’ll live,” I added quietly. “But he’ll never be the same. His growth is… done. And the magic he’s lost won’t return. I don't know how long his new reserves will allow him to live.”
The room fell silent, save for the soft breathing of Dumbledore and the fading glow of my magic.
I stepped back and looked at the others.
“Tell the others he made it. But don’t let them see him yet. Not like this.”
I turned to Asia last. The girl wiped at her eyes and nodded bravely. I rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“You did well, Asia.”
Then I walked out, my footsteps echoing down the corridor as I moved alone.
Elias Black
Room of Requirement, later that night.
The room was quiet now.
The dim lights were almost comforting as I gazed at the sleeping girls, their chests rising and falling with each breath.
I should have been at peace... But my thoughts kept spiraling, and sleep avoided me.
About Dumbledore, Moody, all those families in Manchester, and the people in Diagon Alley.
I stared into the fire at the small furnace until my eyes blurred.
Then I felt a presence walking outside the room. The door appeared and opened.
"Evening, Elias," came the familiar voice.
I stood quickly.
Dumbledore entered slowly, leaning heavily on an ornate wooden cane. His long robes flowed behind him, but his steps were uneven. The left side of his face was still scarred, but healing.
A bandage remained over his now-empty socket.
He looked weaker than I'd ever seen him. But he stood tall and proudly.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. What could I say? I’d failed him.
I couldn’t save his eye. I couldn’t restore his strength.
I…
He raised a hand before I could speak.
"Pomfrey explained everything. Young Asia, too," he said gently, "I know what you tried. I know you gave it your all."
I nodded slowly, unsure if I should feel comforted or more ashamed.
He smiled faintly. “And for what it’s worth, I’m still standing. That alone is a miracle.” His gaze softened. “You did more than anyone else could have. Thank you, Elias.”
Then he shifted his weight. "But I didn’t come just to speak. I need someone to escort me. There’s something we must investigate... Severus was a troubled man, but he would never be caught unaware."
I hesitated, glancing back at the girls. They were all asleep. They needed the rest.
So did I... but that wasn't as important.
But I couldn’t let him go alone. I nodded at him as I conjured a shirt.
With a burst of crimson flame, Fawkes appeared overhead, crying a mournful tune.
We arrived in the ruins of a run-down neighborhood. I had no idea where we were exactly, but I had my theory.
The house was crooked, and there were signs of forced entry.
Dumbledore moved carefully, each step slow as he dealt with his impairment. He didn’t complain. Not even once. But I could see the tightness in his jaw when his cane hit uneven ground.
“Severus was many things,” he murmured. “A brilliant but bitter man, but above all... cautious. If he suspected something, he would have left something for us.”
We entered carefully, avoiding every ward we could feel.
We searched in silence, rifling through the bookshelves and cracked desks. Dumbledore paused often, not out of weakness, but out of thoughtfulness. He looked… nostalgic, maybe. Or guilty.
After so many events in this war, I could understand him better.
Then, behind a loose stone in the fireplace, we finally found a black envelope sealed with wax.
Dumbledore broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
“Albus, if you’re reading this, then I’m dead. I ask that you keep your promise, even after I'm gone. Alaric Macmillan is not who he claims to be. And the Voldemort you’ve seen recently… that is not the Dark Lord. Be careful.”
I looked up with wide eyes as the old man finished the letter. Dumbledore said nothing. His expression was a rictus of anger and sadness as he wept for the professor.
A sudden voice crackled through the room, making us jump and prepare spells before we noticed it was coming from the magical radio.
"After the disastrous and effective attacks by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Ministry is in a disarray. Since the Chief Warlock was injured and not allowed visits, Madam Bones, the highest-ranking Ministry official alive, called for an urgent meeting of the Wizengamot. We, the Daily Wizards, brought you all the important news! After Lord Alaric's no doubt legacy-worthy speech in Diagon Alley, he has been named a candidate for the Minister of Magic position! Amelia Bones decided to give her spot to him, since she wants to continue working in Law enforcement. In two days, he will give another speech in the renewed Atrium of the Ministry. Be sure to tune in for the latest news!"
I looked at the old man with a sneer on my face, "We need to finish this war as soon as possible. Too many eyes will be upon us after the mess in Manchester."
Dumbledore's lips quirked. "And you know where to start, my dear student."
He then sighed, "And I believe I have a way to help you all before that."
Comments
Bishop7053
Called it. Knew aleric wasn't who he said he was. The body hopping. He did with Scrim just confirmed it. He's trying to take control in the same way dumbles did against grindlewald
InfinityReads99
Who know my guys, one of you might have gotten it, maybe none did haha. It will be revealed next chapter so at least that’s good. Maybe I’ll manage to write a bit every day and have it ready for the weekend.
Gr1ffin
Be interesting if its Lord V in disguise. He's basically down most of his most trusted. If he sacrifices them in battle against a good imposter, he could take control via the Alaric persona. That's if he isn't from some other special magical group.
Iori Daemona Angel
Yeah, Alaric is gonna get his comeuppance.
LothWolf
Yeah I think Alaric is part of that group who either wants to control or destroy Elias
