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(Enchanting Melodies) Chapter 432: A Sword’s Edge
🕑 Added 2025-02-25 14:00:11 +0000 UTCChapter 432: A Sword’s Edge
3 June 1995, Hogwarts
He had time, but not much. The pieces were in motion, and the board was set. There was no time for hesitating. He had one final move before the End began, and he intended to play it well. He would not hesitate, not after what he sacrificed, not after what he lost. For the Light would shine eternal, no matter the cost.
Albus Dumbledore sighed to himself as he sat in the once-familiar Great Hall, watching the students mingle with the foreign delegations. It had been a bit of a fight to get them there, especially given how furious Minerva was with him after his speech in the castle. As if hoping to slight him, his former deputy sent letters to delay the arrival of the delegations and did her best to get him to retract his statement about his new security measures.
Sure, the whole thing was a pretence from the ICW that gave him access to every single place in the castle without question, which would give him the flexibility to get the ritual ready without any complications. He expected the Potter boy to try to stop him, again, and he couldn’t take any chances. He could have an army at his disposal, and no one would panic, as they were for ‘security purposes’. It wasn’t exactly subtle, but people tended to overlook things if they had a proper explanation for them. He couldn’t exactly risk something going wrong, not when the stakes were that high.
Still, the room was far less animated than he would have liked, and the former headmaster couldn’t exactly blame them. What happened in Olympus would demoralize anyone. They had lost their friends, people who they had spent the better part of the school year with them, who they had grown to love and respect.
Albus mourned these losses as if they were his own. It was tragic, but their lives were at the cost of a far grander purpose. What were a few deaths compared to extinction? What choice did Albus have but to let them die so that the rest of the world would survive? It was his burden to make the hardest choices, for he was the only one with the will, and the vision necessary to make them.
And now, their teammates were asked to compete in a tournament and ignore their grief, their loss, for a spectacle. Albus could see it in their eyes, the resentment towards him and the ICW, towards even Hogwarts, whose student seemed slightly more enthused by the prospect. They had been cooped up in the castle for months following the short civil war and relished in a bit of excitement.
Finally, Minerva stood up and the entire room was silenced. She waited for a second before speaking, as if trying to find the words, “I will not lie and say that this is a happy occasion. As much as I am happy to be here, to host such a prestigious tournament, it doesn’t seem suitable to stand here, eat a feast, and pretend like the tragedy of Mount Olympus did not occur. Students, children, friends, and family were lost to us, forever, and there is nothing I can do to make up for that loss. My own school lost a very bright young man, one of the best students I have had the privilege of teaching, and the world is less for it. I believe that everyone here feels the same way, maybe not about Cedric Diggory, but the others who have fallen alongside him. This last task of the European tournament was supposed to be a celebration of international magical cooperations, of friendships made between nations, and yet I find that it is better served honouring those we have lost. You will be competing for them, for their sakes, to finish what they started. You will be competing to remember them.”
The Great Hall burst into applause at the woman’s speech, and Albus had to admit that his former deputy was doing a great job motivating the students, especially given her obvious distaste for the whole event. It was a shame that she was so strict with her morals; she could have made a very good politician.
Still, the woman raised her hand, and the hall quietened once more, “That said, I suppose now is the time to announce the final task of the European School Tournament. It is a very simple affair. Each school will have seven champions, and they will enter an arena with nothing but their uniforms and their wand. The last school standing will be the winner. Of course, the use of any magic that might have long-term harmful effects is prohibited and will be considered a crime by our Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Other than that, you may use whichever magic you wish. Champions will be eliminated when they are either unconscious, forfeit, or leave the arena in question. May the odds be in your favour and I wish you all good luck.”
Was that it?
That seemed to be the general consensus from both the student body and the visiting headmasters and headmistresses. Did Minerva seriously just make a fancy arena, tell students to fight between themselves to win and that was it?
Albus could see the logic in it. Something as simple as this was bound to be underwhelming, but it was also safe. The staff had access to every single Champion easily, meaning that any injuries could be easily dealt with quickly. There wouldn’t be any unforeseen events, not really, and it was also a lot cheaper to implement. Given the state of the economy of Magical Britain, Albus knew that this would save a lot in terms of logistics.
It was also extremely boring and extremely short.
That wouldn’t do. To break a prophecy, Albus had designed a specific ritual, a mass exodus of emotions, that could, for a fraction of a second, overpower a prophecy in might. And if the students were unenthusiastic, if the spectators were not at the edge of their seats, then it was possible that the prophecy would resist, that it wouldn’t break.
The duelling tournament had been a close call on that front, but it had luckily been a far longer endeavour and Albus managed to essentially store the emotions and unleash them at once during the finals.
Damn it, it was like Minerva was specifically doing her best to make herself as troublesome as possible. This wasn’t supposed to be the original plan, not the one the ICW had received anyway. It was supposed to be a race, a thrilling obstacle course from Hogsmeade all the way to the Astronomy tower, going through the Forbidden Forest and having to retrieve a clue in the depth of the Black Lake.
It would have been a fitting end to the tournament, not this…
Well, it seemed like he’d have to rectify this in some way. He stood up, right as Minerva was sitting down and spoke up, “Thank you, Headmistress, for your announcement, but I had something of my own to say. I have always considered Hogwarts to be my home, even after my departure, and I would feel remiss not to reward the good performance of Champions for this task. This is why I am offering this, for the winner of the tournament.”
Albus carefully raised his hand, and a magnificent sword materialized, radiating power and Light. The blade gleamed with an unnatural brilliance, polished to perfection, its silver-steel surface engraved with runes that pulsed with energy. Its hilt was wrapped in aged, deep-red leather and the crossguard was sculpted into the form of a dragon’s wings, a symbol of the legendary beast the saint had once slain. He admired the sword for a moment before continuing, “Ascalon, the sword of Saint George himself, a priceless relic of history and a very powerful weapon, shall be the prize awarded for the last Champion standing in the arena. Good luck.”
And just as he expected pandemonium followed. The former headmaster didn’t exactly blame them. Ascalon was a very attractive prize, one that Albus was sad to see gone. Sure, it was a powerful weapon, but it paled compared to what he could already do. No, Albus liked it because of its history, because it was wielded by a Saint, a gift given by the Champion of Light at the time. Nevertheless, legendary weapons tended to be extremely expensive, due to many collectors desiring them. Power aside, this sword would probably change the winner’s life. That also meant that collectors would actively be invested in the tournament, which should raise interest in the task, not because of its nature, but because of the prize.
It was a bit of an impulse decision, but Albus knew that it was the correct move. The sword didn’t matter, not when dealing with something like Ragnarök. It was better to safeguard the plan, and save humanity than hold on to some old sword.
Minerva obviously didn’t like what he was doing. She probably hoped that it would be a calm and relatively short affair. Albus could sympathize with the logistical nightmare she would need to deal with, but he had no other choice. The seal must break, and a prophecy must be broken.
That said, there was someone else who was glaring at him, probably understanding why Albus decided to let go of such an artefact. Harry Potter. Albus wasted more time than he liked trying to follow the boy around, hoping to figure out where he disappeared. He still hadn’t forgotten what happened in their earlier duel and hoped to find the boy’s workshop. Knowing what the boy was planning would have been beneficial, after all.
He found nothing.
Well, not nothing. The boy was obviously using his portals to travel to his workshop, but Albus couldn’t trace them anywhere. Even trying to find space-time anomalies across the countries, specifically tailored to the boy’s magic, found nothing, which was very frustrating, to say the least. Either way, after a few days, he gave up and asked for him to be followed constantly by the hidden vampires that he ‘employed’ for the tournament’s security.
And it wasn't like the boy's weakness wasn't obvious from the start. The former headmaster turned to the blond girl to the right of Harry Potter. She was his weakness and the boy was arrogant enough to essentially flaunt it. Fate might protect the boy, but it did not protect the Greengrass girl. Perhaps, a conversation with Gellert would be necessary about how to leverage that to make the irritating boy not be a nuisance during the coming ritual. Oh, Albus would kill him eventually, but sadly, Ragnarök came first. Humanity came first.
Nevertheless, Albus knew that this was a stretch at best and that his priority was to try to find a prophecy to substitute the one between Neville Longbottom and Tom Riddle. It needed to be powerful enough to finish powering the large ritual, and it needed to be easily accessible until the tournament.
He found exactly nothing. Prophecies were made specifically to not be easily accessible, and powerful prophecies weren’t exactly common, with it happening once every couple of generations. It was why it took Gellert decades to prepare the ritual properly, to find each prophecy for each country, arrange for the tournament to happen. Everything was planned to the smallest detail until Harry Potter ruined it all with his interference.
They had to improvise and both of them loathed that, loathed the unknown. And as it would have it, Albus kept researching countless texts, even suck inside the Department of Mysteries, nothing fit. Either the prophecies were too weak or were too abstract to possibly be broken.
The final task was approaching. The Summer Solstice—one of the strongest magical nexuses of the year—would be the perfect time to fuel their ritual. It was the moment when ley lines would surge with power when ancient spells would reach their peak of effectiveness. It was the moment they had spent decades preparing for. And yet, without the final prophecy, without the crucial piece to complete the ritual’s foundation, it would all be for nothing.
This was no longer about his vision for magical society. The dream of a magical utopia had been secondary for years now. That dream had shattered long ago, a casualty of necessity. Now, there was only one goal: humanity’s survival. And Albus would not allow himself to fail—not again, not like he failed his sister, not like he failed his dream.
That left only one course of action, something he had never wished to do. His last trick. His final ace in the hole.
Excalibur.
The sword of promised victory.
There was a prophecy tied to it, one that had somehow survived the ages, persisting long after the fall of Camelot. It was also Albus’ greatest weapon against Grindelwald, which he had safeguarded, left alone, until their inevitable fight. To think that he would need to destroy it for a ritual. But he would. For humanity. For the greater good.
And so, Albus made his decision. Excalibur would fall.
He would find the sword tonight. There was no more time for hesitation. The tournament’s final task was fast approaching, and Ragnarök would not wait. The Light and Dark were already stirring, restless, eager for the battle to come.
And that meant returning to the place where it had been left to rest, undisturbed for centuries. A place even he had not dared to set foot in since he was a much younger man. A place steeped in legend, myth, and power.
Merlin’s tomb.
For humanity.
For the Greater Good.
AN: I know that this is another slow chapter, but things will pick up in the next one, I promise. I needed to write an announcement of the task and thought that it would have been more interesting to have it seen from Dumbledore's POV, as I planned on continuing with the whole Excalibur thing. But for some reason, when I started writing, it really just got away from me. I wrote it in a bit of a hurry but the gist was that I got caught up wanting to show Dumbledore's ‘fall’, essentially being convinced to destroy his greatest weapon by Grindelwald without the Dark Lord actually doing anything. He saw it in his vision and arranged for that to happen and I guess that I didn’t really talk about it too much. I don’t know if I pulled it off, but I don’t mind rewriting it depending on your feedback. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
Callum Runchman
I'd laugh so hard if merlin's tomb tricks dumbles and he somehow loses access to the sword of legend only for it to present itself to Harry in a very public place making people believe he's the heir of merlin or something like that. It'd literally be like fate giving dumbles the finger and denying him yet again
Book reader
I hope dumbledores death is especially painful
