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(Enchanting Melodies) Chapter 440: Face to Face
🕑 Added 2025-03-11 14:00:26 +0000 UTCChapter 440: Face to Face
18 June 1995, Hogwarts
Albus Dumbledore sat in the office provided to him, staring melancholically at the golden perch in the corner. The office looked like the one he had when he was headmaster. He had enlarged its dimensions, conjured a similar desk, and put his books and small silver artefacts on the shelves. As far as anyone who would visit his office, they’d think that they were in his previous one.
He had done it in a fit of childishness at McGonagall giving him a standard office, not even one granted to Professors, but it was also to have a sense of familiarity after what happened to Fawkes. He had hoped that it would keep his mind off things, but he kept staring at his companion’s perch as if hoping that he would return in a burst of flames.
Phoenixes had never been studied properly. No one really knew how they worked, why they were immortal, or where they came from, and anyone who tried to catch one or experiment on one either ended up failing at best or ended up suffering massively at worst. The creatures were elusive, to say the least, and even after thousands of years, they remained a complete mystery.
And yet, Fawkes was dead. Albus had never thought it was possible in the first place, but if anyone could do it, it would be Merlin. He had learned that the man was not kind, to say the least. It was an easy conclusion to come to, given what he realized the nature of Excalibur’s test was. It was completely geared towards personal sacrifice, a test of conviction, a test of dedication. The magic was impressive, to say the least. Merlin’s enchantments would somehow figure out something that the quester would treasure immensely, arrange its summoning, and try to convince them to destroy it.
For Albus that had been Fawkes, and he killed him. To be perfectly honest, Albus was awed by the sheer scale of the magic, that even now, he barely understood more than the surface level. For example, how did it learn of Fawkes in the first place – he expected it to be some form of soul magic, but this was an educated guess at this point – and how did the magic even summon him or manage to kill him? From an educated guess, it had something to do with a form of sacrificial magic that somehow destroyed things fundamentally. Albus wasn’t sure. He had been mourning his friend when that happened, and the magic had faded away after he retrieved the sword.
Albus knew that it was worth it, that Fawkes’ death was a small price to pay for saving humanity, but he didn’t feel the usual confidence he had when he performed similar feats. This felt raw, more of a personal sacrifice, for a sword that he would end up destroying in just a few days. For some reason, he felt bitter about the whole thing, something that he didn’t expect.
Yes, he finally had Excalibur in his grasp, and he had to admit that it felt right. The sword pulsed with power, ready to channel the Light, ready to burn away the Dark, ready to save the world. It was a hero’s sword, a king’s sword, and he now understood why Merlin risked the ire of the fae just to make it. With this, the battle between the Light and Dark would be over quickly, with Albus’ patron easily coming victorious. The devastation wouldn’t be as drastic as it could have been. And Albus had to destroy it.
It was funny, the fact that he was betraying the Light with this action. Albus had locked this thought, making his patron think that victory was all but assured, unknowing that its greatest weapon would be destroyed for humanity.
It had been surprisingly easy for the former headmaster to trick the Light. For so long, he had followed the entity’s command that it didn’t even entertain the idea of rebellion. He saw it now, what Gellert told him all those years ago. He saw why his friend had done his best to resist the Dark’s influence. It was just so alien, so unnatural. He supposed that immortality would do that to anyone, let alone an entity that spanned across multiple dimensions. It hadn’t really cared about Albus’ people, only Ragnarök and the coming battle. Albus did try to argue with it, try to steer it into finding another way that wouldn’t destroy humanity, but the Light was unbending, uncaring for the suffering of his people.
And if Albus had to choose between humanity or the Light, he would pick the former every time. Everything he had done in his life was for his people, to create a kinder world, a fairer world. He had failed, as visionaries often did, but his ultimate goal did not waver. The Light had always been a guide, an advisor for his plans, which had helped immensely. However, he had to admit that in the past year, the Light had stopped trying to subtly steer things towards his goal and mostly towards its own, which apparently revolved around the End of Days.
It was completely apathetic when it came to Dumbledore’s and Grindelwald’s ritual and their plan to save humanity. It had lent them their strength, but he would feel the apathy at their actions. It was preparing for the oncoming battle and cared for little else.
A knock broke Albus from his thoughts, and he answered absentmindedly, “Come in.”
Harry Potter stepped into the room looking both confident and but with a slight tinge of wariness. He didn’t know if the young man would accept his invitation. It hadn’t mattered much to Albus; He and Gellert knew almost all of the boy’s plans. Vlad Drakul was very useful in that regard and all of it matched what Gellert saw in his visions. He knew that the boy would lose to them, handily, and a part of him relished that. It was the part of him that remembered every insult, every inconvenience, every injury, every failure, that the boy caused.
However, another part of him, one that had just lost his companion in this foolish war, just wanted the suffering to end. Ever since Fawkes’ death, the world was just that little bit bleaker, just that little bit darker. He felt like he lost a part of himself and the haunted, yet resigned look in the phoenix’s eyes just wouldn’t leave his mind.
In his younger years, he would have never considered the possibility of killing one of his oldest companions. He’d been so full of optimism back then, which slowly translated to pessimism and just a drop of bitterness mixed into it.
Why did it have to be like this? Why did things have to go this way?
Why did the Potter boy have to kill Voldemort?
It changed nothing. He must have known that Albus would have figured something out, that he would find another prophecy.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. If it hadn’t been for Gellert’s divination, he would have probably been caught off-guard and the ritual would have backfired on them, and given the scale of the ritual, the magical release alone would have been catastrophic.
Nevertheless, Albus couldn’t help but feel like his friend died for nothing, just for some boy trying to make himself as inconvenient as possible. To say that he hated Harry Potter would be an understatement, but for some reason, the burning rage that he expected to climb to new heights had disappeared, leaving him feeling oddly empty. It was like Fawkes’ death made him think clearly for the first time in decades.
The Potter boy would die, of course. He was still prepared to go through the war, and massacre his little army one foolish soldier at a time. However, for some reason, he didn’t feel as gleeful as he had when he imagined seeing the defeated look on the boy’s face. Now, it felt like a duty, not his promised vindication.
The boy looked at him impassively and spoke up, “I have to admit that I was very curious as to why you asked to see me.”
“I like to think we’ve gotten to know each other fairly well over the years, and given what’s ahead of us in a few days, I thought we’d have a little conversation.”
The Potter boy nodded slightly, “I suppose we would have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”
“I suppose we do. You know, when you stepped into these halls, I had hoped you’d end up like your father. He was a brave man, a good man, but at the worst, I expected someone like your mother, a brilliant young woman, but a very unstable person. I suppose you’ve got the best of both.”
Potter rolled his eyes, “Is this why you brought me here? To talk about my dead parents.”
“No,” the former headmaster denied, “But I think it’s important that we be frank with one another. You spent years trying to undermine anything I could ever want, a completely reckless decision, which reminds me oddly of your father, and you were as brilliant at it as your mother, but perhaps, the fact that I underestimated you due to your age did help. You jumped to conclusions that I wished you harm, when I, in fact, did not.”
The boy gritted his teeth and spoke, “You tried to force me to stay with muggles despite knowing that we didn’t get along. You tried to paint me as a future Dark Lord when months prior, you had killed Nicholas Flamel. You tried to force me to show my magic to make people fear me, and then you tried to kill me in the single most agonized way possible, by trapping me in an endless time loop until I ran out of life force. Does that sound like you didn’t wish to hurt me?”
Albus suppressed the urge to wince, “But these were not meant to harm you. Sure, I wanted you safe, away from Arcturus Black’s influence. I wanted to put a spotlight on you so that you wouldn’t fall to Darkness as Tom Riddle had before you. I thought that the pressure of the world’s expectations would help you rise as a good man. I know first-hand how secrecy can make the mind wander in dangerous places. I’ll admit that trapping you in the Gardens of Avalon was slightly short-sighted on my part, due to my anger at the political pressure your antics caused me, and for that, I apologize.”
“You apologize,” Harry Potter repeated slowly, “You tried to kill me in the single most horrible way imaginable, and you’re apologizing.”
“My boy, with what is coming, we need to set aside this foolish rivalry between us. Let us not fall back to our baser instincts and talk like civilized men instead. Ragnarök is coming, and whether you like it or not, I’m on the side of humanity, I’m on the side of survival. Fighting us will not accomplish anything.”
“On the side of humanity?” Potter asked in an incredulous tone, “You’re literally the ones bringing the End of Days to our doorstep for no reason. You’ve killed children, students, and God knows how many other people, for this idiotic useless quest.”
“Ragnarök was going to happen whether we liked it or not. The World Serpent is dead, and it is the strongest prophecy ever told. We decided to bring it on our terms, where the odds of humanity’s survival are at their highest. Sure, it’s not ideal, but it is better than the alternative. Do you have any idea how many lives will we save because of our actions? A handful of dead people is a price I am prepared to pay to ensure our survival.”
“So, that’s what you live by, to kill a man, to save a hundred, kill a thousand to save a million?” the younger wizard asked.
Albus smirked, “The math works out, doesn’t it?”
“It’s a sad way to live.”
“It’s my burden so that others would get to survive. It is a burden that you are ignoring because of your personal history with me. We are in the right and you know it. I don’t think we’ll ever like one another, but you do not have to oppose us, not on this, not with humanity on the line.”
For some reason, the boy’s smile turned sad, “You don’t see it, do you? How far you’ve fallen. You’re still not taking responsibility for your actions, and push the blame on some vague Greater Good, to make yourself feel better. First, it was your magical Utopia, and now humanity’s survival. And when that’s done, it’ll be something else to take the blame for, all because you don’t want to admit that your actions have probably been more monstrous than most Dark Lords in history. You see if it was anyone else but you and Grindelwald, I might have even thought about entertaining the thought, but I know you and I know Grindelwald. You’re both probably planning on screwing each other during your ritual. If you’re not, then you can bet your ass he is.”
Albus froze at that. It was true that he had been planning on using Excalibur to put the odds further in his favour during his inevitable fight with Grindelwald. He hadn’t really entertained the idea of Gellert trying to do the same, something that was a bit of a mistake on his part. He’d need to rectify this.
Thankfully, the boy didn’t seem to note his discomfort and continued, “I probably won’t even have to do anything, since the both of you will probably try to mess with your ritual and blow yourselves up all by yourselves. But this isn’t here or there, you want to know why I won’t step aside, why I will fight. I could say things about the end of the world, or an obscure reason like it being my destiny, but I’ll fight to the bitter end because of you, our problem, the final problem.”
“You would doom the world just out of pettiness?” Albus asked with an incredulous tone.
Harry snorted, “Are you seriously saying that I would doom the world? You’re the one who made the ritual. You’re literally the one summoning Ragnarök, a very literal doom to the world. But there’s no convincing you, is there? Nothing I will say will change your mind and I accepted that. You’re the gallant hero, who bravely saves the world. And if you’re the hero, then I suppose this makes me the villain.”
“There’s no need to be childish, my boy,” the former headmaster responded, seeing the obvious petulance in the boy’s tone.
His answer was a bitter chuckle, “Alright, you want me to take this seriously, so I am. So, let me tell you this straight, Albus Dumbledore. I will not join you; I will not stop what I am doing. I will fight you tooth and nail, not to save the world from your arrogance – that’s just a bonus – but just to watch you fall. I will burn every single thing you love to the ground and watch you writhe in agony. Oh, I can practically imagine how redemptive it is, for you to suffer as you made thousands before you suffered. And when you’re kneeling in the ruin of your own making, when you finally see the monster you’ve become—I will be there to watch you break and only then will I allow you to die.”
The room slowly got colder as the boy kept speaking and Albus met his steely gaze with one of his own, “You have barely survived against myself and Gellert, and even then, you relied on tricks and other people’s sacrifices. You will not have that luxury, especially when you fight both of us. You will die.”
“Then I will die,” the boy retorted in an even tone, “But I don’t think it’s going to happen. It definitely beats joining you, and what’s one more body on your mountain of corpses, Dumbledore? Besides, I’m a Peverell; Death’s an old friend. But I can see that nothing will be achieved by staying here, and you’re probably busy trying to stop Grindelwald from abusing the ritual or plotting his downfall in some way.”
The boy got up and Albus spoke up, “It doesn’t have to end like this, Potter.”
“Yes, it does,” he replied before turning and leaving.
With that done, Albus Dumbledore found himself alone in his office, feeling slightly resigned at the boy’s coming death. He had asked to see him mostly to give himself a sense of closure. The young man had been at the centre of everything that happened in his life recently. He had to admit that losing the Elder Wand to him had made Albus wary of the boy, to say the least.
He had been worried that he’d have something up his sleeves, something that Gellert wouldn’t see coming. Honestly, the things that he had seen had been worrying, to say the least. If Albus attacked him, the boy would end up coming up with some measure or another to make things difficult for their plans, which often ended with enough deaths that the entire tournament ended up being cancelled.
This feeling must have made him feel untouchable, to say the least, which was a good thing for Albus; Harry Potter obviously had no idea that they were planning on attacking the Greengrass girl soon and he still thought that his idea of destroying the Light and Dark would work despite his and Gellert’s efforts to stop something like infecting their patrons’ energies from happening, by attacking any foreign energy and neutralize it during Ragnarök as efficiently as possible, stopping it from spreading.
Either way, Harry Potter was a dead man walking. He would die alone, afraid for the Greengrass girl, becoming nothing more than an inconvenience in Albus’ story. For all his trickery and deceit, he wasn’t the biggest threat to Albus’ dream, was he? Was Gellert also planning on killing Albus, stacking the odds in his favour as well? He needed to take a proper look at the ritual again to make sure that nothing had been changed, and he would need to observe him very carefully.
After all, he had no other choice. He needed to save humanity, which it would build with the careful guidance of the victorious Light, in a society without suffering or pain, and nothing would get in his way. Not Harry Potter and not even Gellert Grindelwald, that he swore.
AN: That was far longer than I planned. I noticed that it was a trend in the last few chapters, but I really felt exhausted after writing this. I don’t know if this is a good ‘last conversation’ between Dumbledore and Harry. Over the course of the story, even with Grindelwald being more dangerous, Harry always had a personal history with Dumbledore, which makes the fight between them feel more important, I guess. Anyway, I wanted this chapter to essentially be Dumbledore scoping out Harry, trying to make sure out of paranoia that he didn’t have something more up his sleeve, more than what Grindelwald figured out with his visions anyway (You can see where this is going), while also trying to convince Harry to stop fighting him, proclaiming that he would lose to it in the long run. The idea is to show that Dumbledore's self-deception has been slowly unravelling since Fawkes' death and that he's trying to rationalize himself while being aware of his own hypocrisy. Anyway, I’m not sure I pulled it off (it feels a bit off for some reason), but I don’t mind rewriting this chapter depending on your feedback. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
Anthony
Thank you
Monzter E
Good chapter
Abe 7
The best lies are the ones we tell ourselves. Dumbledore is the best example of this. Excellent misdirection by Harry planting the seed of doubt about the ritual.
