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(Enchanting Melodies) Chapter 462: Fading Light
🕑 Added 2025-04-27 14:00:08 +0000 UTCChapter 462: Fading Light
21 June 1995, Stonehenge
Yet, the boy’s eyes gleamed, ready in a fighting stance, “No Light. No prophecy. Just you and me. One final duel. Fitting, isn’t it?” He spread his arms, mockingly. “You created me. And today, you will die at the hands of your greatest mistake.”
Harry stared at the raging form of Albus Dumbledore, completely devoid of purpose and precision, and relished in the fact that he had unmade the man, in everything but name. It was a long time coming, to say the least. He still remembered the scared boy he’d been just a few years prior, being targeted by the man who was likely the most powerful living mage at the time, both politically and magically.
After all, it would have been foolish not to be. Looking back, a lot of things might have gone wrong. He’d been so sure of his actions, yet it was in retrospect that Harry realised that he’d been lucky. Too lucky, even. Everything seemed to work out; every challenge was exactly enough for him to circumvent with his strength and knowledge, and it was exactly what he needed to grow. He could see someone’s meddling all over it, likely Solomon’s. The King of Mages had proven that his divination was beyond anything Harry ever dreamed of.
Nevertheless, Albus Dumbledore robbed him of his quiet life. He’d forced Harry into becoming a warrior, despite loathing it with a passion. He was a scholar, but using magic for battle had tainted the wonder of it all. He wished he could have it back one day, explore magic for the beauty of it all, instead of being pressed for time, trying to do one impossible thing out of another to stop two Archmages from destroying the world.
For all the times Dumbledore had tried to control him and kill him, this was, beyond a doubt, why he hated him the most. He had stolen the wonder of magic from him, what truly made it special and understandable, and instead, he felt like he had lost something fundamental. He interpreted magic as music, and yet, Dumbledore had taken the joy and beauty out of it, and for that, Harry wasn’t merely satisfied with killing the man, but to destroy him completely.
He’d had this realisation shortly before the battle, back when he’d planned his and Daphne’s survival from Ragnarök, seeing the certainty of his death in the future as a curse, as something to be battled. On that day, he witnessed Daphne playing with her druidic magic, growing white trees, whose sight just soothed him completely. She hadn’t done it for some battle or for any practical reason, only playing with her magic, and it helped him relax slightly. It made him realise that he hadn’t made a spell like this in almost a year, just magic for magic’s sake, for beauty’s sake, for knowledge’s sake, not necessity, not for the upcoming battle against the Light and Dark. It was on that day that he realised what he had lost.
He thought of the future and imagined how it would be. He realised that after the battle, there would be no hiding. He would fight Grindelwald and Dumbledore at a standstill, showing power and skill that the world would have never expected of a teenager. He would never have a moment of peace, and neither would Daphne.
He’d been thinking of plans to escape his cursed knowledge of the future, but with it came an opportunity, proof that there was a chance where he’d have some peace. He only needed to guide the fabric of time towards this interpretation of the knowledge instead of his and Daphne’s deaths. He’d needed a gigantic surge of power to hide himself, to convince the world that he would die so that no one would try to look, and the World Tree was so accommodating of his request.
It was terrifying that they might die nonetheless, that Time would pull some trick once more, but with the World Tree created, Harry felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders, the last confirmation of his victory. He felt the very fabric of time solidify, the oppressive feeling he got when he made certain actions disappear. The Time loop was complete, and his decisions were now completely his own. Time and Fate’s designs were complete. The prophecy of Ragnarök is fulfilled, and now Harry would enjoy his prize.
Albus Dumbledore sent a spell at him that Harry casually batted away with his scythe, sending one of his own, with Dumbledore barely shielding against it, pushing him back. Harry casually walked forward, letting the man regain his footing.
The former Champion of Light gathered his wits and, with a flick of his wand, the ground morphed like a wave, trying to throw Harry away, only for him to jump, warping space above him, allowing him to dodge the attack completely. Yet, the ground solidified and morphed into a hand, hoping to grasp him. Harry activated his invisibility cloak, morphing through it and slicing the attack apart with a casual flick of his scythe.
He gave Dumbledore an unimpressed look, “Is this really all you can do without the Light? You’re really not living up to the legend. I just took away your every purpose, destroyed your life’s work, ruined your reputation, and this is it?”
The former headmaster roared, conjuring a large hurricane, ready to swallow everything whole, only for Harry to casually overpower it, turning it into jagged ice that fell on the former headmaster, who barely shielded.
Harry sent a ball of compressed space, and Dumbledore barely stopped it with a shield, sending him back slightly. He sent two slices of pure fire, which Harry casually dodged, “Slow.”
The former headmaster released a beam of Light, which Harry casually stopped with a shield. It was a pale mockery of what the man had been able to cast thanks to his now-dead patron. It was just light now, with no multidimensional enhancement or conceptual order, just solidified light, remarkably similar to Blaise’s family magic. Impressive, sure, but a candle to the sun that Dumbledore spells used to be. All told, he voiced his impression, “Weak.”
The man followed with a bolt of Lightning, and Harry easily opened a portal, making the attack turn on its caster. Dumbledore barely rolled away, shielding himself, while still being partially hit from the attack, but waved his wand, conjuring a large rune array, which Harry immediately destabilised with a flick of his wand, thanks to his Arcane Hearing.
The runes blew up, and Dumbledore was sent flying back, and he only cast a charm to avoid falling back further. He sent another spell at Harry, who just unmade it in mid-air. Harry gave him an unimpressed look, “Predictable.”
That was an understatement. Dumbledore’s fighting was pathetic, to say the least. Sure, the man was at a severe disadvantage, since he was out of practice when it came to fighting without the full support of the Light behind him, but this was honestly just sad.
The Light had enhanced his perception, his speed, the power of his spells and shields, and even provided him with a healing factor. He had gotten used to it for decades, relied on it, and now he was completely out of practice as a normal mage. Sure, Harry could see the small hints of the mage he could have been, the obviously rusty techniques and strategies. The man had gotten used to overpowering everyone around him so easily that he just never needed to fight strategically for years, and it showed. To be perfectly honest, Dumbledore was now worse than the Voldemort he fought in the other universe, and wasn’t that a revelation?
Harry had prepared himself for a final battle, a final fight against his enemy, but he couldn’t help but be disappointed. It was just so easy. Too easy. He could have ended this before their duel even began, but he didn’t.
There was a reason for it, of course, but Harry had to admit that he enjoyed watching the sheer desperation on Dumbledore’s face, as he felt the futility of it all, every botched spell, every shield too slow, every desperate attempt at control. It was fitting. It was right.
In a way, every casual spell, every defeated counter, destroyed him. It reminded him of how outmatched he was, of how much he lost, and it was showing. Harry walked forward, almost lazily, weaving through the pitiful attempts of offence as if strolling through a rainstorm, unbothered and untouched. His scythe gleamed under the light of the World Tree, humming with restrained power.
Dumbledore roared again, his magic surging outward in a last desperate pulse, trying to crush Harry under sheer brute force. Earth shattered, air cracked, lightning split the sky. It was a grand spectacle, a tantrum thrown by a broken god.
Harry simply raised a hand, and the magic shattered against an invisible wall, harmless. His scythe sang with magic for a moment, vibrating with something cold, something absolute. He pulsed his weapon, and gravity was enhanced tenfold, pushing Dumbledore to the ground.
“You see it now, don’t you?” Harry said, voice sharp and mocking, each word a blade. “You’re ordinary. You were always an ordinary man deep down. It was the Light that made you special, that gave you your purpose. Without it, you’re just some old man who wasted his life, clinging to a broken dream, a man who hasn’t been able to move on from the fact that he killed his own sister.”
Dumbledore screamed in rage, releasing a wave of white flames, only for Harry to dispel it with a flick of his scythe and continued walking forward casually, “You always liked it, didn’t you? The idea of being the saviour of humanity, not because of what it achieved, but because you mattered. That’s all you wanted, didn’t you? You wanted to matter, to not die like your father, in disgrace, forgotten. The Light made you matter, but you wanted to stand above the people before you, because you were better than them, because your dream was more ambitious than theirs. But without the Light, you are nothing.”
Harry dodged another attack and sent Dumbledore flying back with a flick of his scythe, near the World Tree, “From the moment the Light disappeared, your dream was dead, and you did it all to yourself. The man underneath the Champion of the Light is nothing. He’s not special. He can’t even do anything.”
Dumbledore staggered, his face pale, wand trembling slightly in his hand.
Still, he raised it again, trying to conjure another spell, anything.
Harry smiled thinly, coldly. “Go ahead. Try.”
The spell never came. Dumbledore fell to one knee, coughing, “Just kill me.”
The last Potter didn’t believe what he heard, and he couldn’t help but ask, “What?”
“KILL ME!” the former headmaster roared, before slumping, “You took everything from me. I have nothing left. You won, Potter. I conceded. There’s no need to delay things. We both know where this is going. Just get it over with.”
The former headmaster threw away his wand and looked down.
Harry smiled at the sight. He knew that it was probably an ugly thing. This was it, Dumbledore’s final defeat. He was broken and had lost all hope of ever regaining everything he would ever want. While the young mage felt a bit of vindication, he expected it to be more eventful. Then again, it wasn’t the Champion of Light who was begging for death, but a pathetic old man who had committed monstrous deeds.
Still, he gave the man a sad look, “Do you remember what happened the last time you were here?”
Dumbledore gave him a confused look but said nothing, and so, Harry continued, “You committed a most heinous crime. For thousands of years, these monoliths remained standing, filled with energy, blessing the children of Magical Britain with power and protection, and you stole that protection, just to heal yourself. But that’s not the worst of it. Thousands of years, sacrifices, rituals, and all manner of magic have gone through this place, making these monoliths sentient, in a way, and you killed them. Or, perhaps, it would be fitting to say that you almost killed them. I gathered the sentience, hoping that it would, one day, grow once more, and used it as the seed of the World Tree, hoping that its kindness, its protection, would translate to the tree itself. It was so unbelievably kind, and you killed it, destroyed it.”
Harry opened his mouth and sang. It was a beautiful thing, like nature and protection personified, just as severe, and this time, it was judgment.
Dumbledore just looked confused for a fraction of a second, until golden roots rose from the ground and bound him. He tried to thrash around wildly, yet the roots of the World Tree were absolute. With desperation in his voice, he yelled, “What is this?”
“Your punishment. Why did you think I didn’t kill you immediately? It was tempting, very tempting even, but instead of an execution, I chose a trial, one by combat specifically. You have failed humanity. You have betrayed magic, and in these holy grounds, we fought, with the World Tree acting as a judge. I came out as the victor, and now the Tree will choose your punishment. I have a feeling it won’t be merciful.”
Harry’s song had asked the tree to make its judgment and allowed it to give its acceptance. He asked for the man before him to be justly punished, and the tree’s faint rustles showed him that it had accepted.
And so, he touched Dumbledore’s heart with his scythe, giving him a single cut, and the former headmaster found himself being absorbed back into the tree, his flesh slowly withering and rotting, “Don’t worry, you won’t die. Every single drop of life force you have left will go towards the tree. Your soul will be drained constantly, completely. You will scream, but you will not be able to make any sounds. Slowly, you will lose yourself, your soul will lose its shape, and become neutral. You will forget who you are, what you are. After all, what is a drop of water in an ocean? Your existence is just so small compared to the World Tree. Only then will you move on to the afterlife, a formless, empty husk of a soul, lost in infinity.”
Harry smiled coldly. Yes, this was far more fitting. Dumbledore was dead in everything but name. Harry and the World Tree had essentially hijacked his afterlife to be bound to the tree, until the tree itself lets him go. Given the sheer difference in presence, and that the former headmaster would be barely more than a soul, unable to even manifest itself in any way, Dumbledore’s escape would be akin to trying to empty an ocean.
And even if he somehow managed to do it, he would just move on to his afterlife. He had no anchor to the living world, not anymore, and with a little application of soul magic with the resurrection stone, he never would.
He gave Dumbledore a fake sympathetic grin, “Isn’t that what you always wanted? You wished to save humanity, and now, you’ll help protect it. Sure, you won’t really make a difference in that regard, but it’s the thought that matters, right? Also, I distinctly remember you trying to do something similar to me when you trapped me in the Gardens of Avalon. Of course, I have the foresight to make this a lot more final; you won’t have a body to get back to if you escape, only death. Then again, you were always fond of sacrifices for the greater good, huh? It’s time to back up your claims.”
Dumbledore thrashed harder, his magic lashing out wildly, but the roots drank it greedily, pulling it into the World Tree’s core without effort. His body withered faster now, the strength that had once shaken continents reduced to desperate sparks swallowed by the earth beneath him.
The roots climbed higher, covering the former headmaster’s body like a shroud of gold and light, and Harry could feel the World Tree hum in satisfaction, absorbing every drop of his existence.
Dumbledore’s mouth opened again, perhaps to beg, perhaps to curse, but no sound came. Only silence.
“You always said sacrifice was noble," Harry said, stepping back, scythe resting lazily on his shoulder. "Congratulations. You’ve made your final sacrifice. I hope it was worth it. You shouldn’t regret it, right? What would you like to say again? Oh yes, this is for the greater good. Goodbye, Albus Dumbledore.”
The golden roots sealed themselves with a final pulse of magic, the ground smoothing over as if he had never been there at all. No grave. No marker. No memory.
Harry stared at the spot for a long moment, his expression unreadable under the soft, golden light.
It was done.
He had finally done it. Albus Dumbledore was gone for good, and Harry took a deep breath. For the first time in years, he felt free.
Ragnarök was over. The Light and Dark were gone, their champions dead. Voldemort was gone, most of the Death Eaters were dead, and most importantly, both he and Daphne were alive.
His part was done.
Now, it was time to live.
AN: Dumbledore is finally gone. I wanted him to have a ‘fate worse than death’. It didn’t feel right just killing him after he glorifies sacrificing himself so much. As for the tone of the duel, with the Light gone, I saw no reason to make a flashy fight scene. I wanted to make Harry’s victory inevitable, really, and help show just how much Dumbledore had fallen. I don’t know if it was the right decision, but I don’t mind rewriting it depending on your feedback. So, now that the main antagonists are gone, the next few chapters will be about tying a few loose threads (Sorry, no spoilers), and then the aftermath of what happened. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Also, I wanted to share a bit of good news. Starting this week, we’ll be back to the original schedule, with chapters on Saturdays. I finally dealt with a lot of stuff in my personal life and should have the weekends free again. Thank you all for your understanding about this, by the way.
Comments
Garri Sarkisov
Very appropriate ending of Dumbledore
nadermfr
Well damn 🫣
