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(Enchanting Melodies) Chapter 396: Of Fickle Olives
🕑 Added 2024-12-22 14:00:56 +0000 UTCChapter 396: Of Fickle Olives
5 May 1995, Stonehenge
From the look in Dumbledore’s eyes, Alastor knew that he wouldn’t budge on this. The man really needed, and what was one last mission? He took a deep breath and answered, “Where are we going?”
“To one of the oldest magical locations in history, Stonehenge.”
With a small pop, both Alastor and Albus appeared in complete darkness. He still marvelled at how smooth Dumbledore’s apparition was. He looked up into the moonless sky, where the world was illuminated only by the stars. Huh, Albus must have really been planning this for it to happen on a night with a new Moon. The former headmaster took out his wand and used it to illuminate their surroundings.
Alastor couldn’t help but comment, “New wand?”
Dumbledore pursed his lips in response, showing that it was a very sore subject, “No, an old one.”
He didn’t comment on it further and Alastor decided not to press. However, any thoughts of wands faded away instantly when he looked forward into the newly illuminated sky and saw it.
Stonehenge stood majestically against the night sky; its ancient stones were arranged in a perfect circle. Each monolith was covered in delicate carvings that glowed softly with blue luminescence, slowly pulsing with magic that seemed to revitalize everything around it.
Alastor had never been one for magical theory. He knew enough to quickly break wards, dispel curses, and how to modify spells on the fly, but that was the extent of his theory work. He was a man of action. He could tell the type of spells an opponent was going to cast with just his first wand movement. He could see through fake spells and deal with shield breakers. He was a warrior, not some professor or a student. It was why the Order of the Phoenix had been so underequipped when they fought Death Eaters. Alastor fought besides amateurs and overenthusiastic young mages who fought like they were immortal, and who wanted to become heroes, something that Albus unfortunately encouraged.
However, Alastor regretted not studying things deeper to understand whatever the phenomenon in front of him was. Albus chuckled behind him, “You are now looking at one of the greatest magical feats of all time. It had been theorized that this was the birthplace of magic, or at least, the place where magic first connected to the world. It’s pure superstition, of course, but it gives a few people comfort to have a clear origin of everything.”
“What is it, then?” the former Auror asked.
“It was probably the first act of druidic magic. For generations, mages sat here and connected with nature, performing rituals at every new moon to bless their homes with a bountiful harvest until the very monoliths learned, giving the carvings on them meaning, turning them into a very primitive rune alphabet. The monoliths were not sentient per se, but for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years, mages performed rituals in this place, and the monoliths learned. Soon, they started to mimic them. And when people moved on, it kept doing it, spreading magic to all the British Isles, blessing the very ground we walk on. There’s a reason why ambient magic in Britain is strong, why our magical plants grow faster, why our wards are stronger, and why our mages are powerful. It’s all because of these stones. Our nation became the very centre of magical civilizations, created Archmages that shaped history itself because people thousands of years ago came to this place and performed rituals, asking for a bountiful harvest.”
“Always an educator at heart, aren’t you, Albus?” Alastor murmured.
“I suppose I missed it, being away from Hogwarts for so long,” the former headmaster answered with sadness in his voice, “Anyway, this is the birthplace of druid magic. People tried to interpret the frankly incomplete alphabet here and slowly learned to connect to nature. They became the first druids. Of course, a lot of the knowledge was destroyed when power-hungry mages and muggles wiped them out, but few families remain, they locked that knowledge in their crests to avoid being hunted down for it.”
“If history showed one thing, it would be that greed is human nature.”
Albus’ tone got more serious, “I suppose it is. I had a dream once, of creating a magical Utopia, a world without violence, without death, without hate, where the very idea of greed would be nonsensical. I fought a war with Grindelwald for that dream, and I failed. I think I understand why that happened now. It took me a while, but I do. Selfishness. That is why I failed. Sure, I made mistakes, and did some heinous things, but it was all for the betterment of the world. The true reason why I failed was because people did not comprehend the idea of a higher purpose, of a mission that was far more important than their own petty lives. You always got that. Where everyone abandoned me, you remained loyal, not out of necessity, but because you understood my mission.”
Alastor felt his throat close up, not allowing himself to speak. He tried to counter the attack but felt his staff being summoned from his grasp.
Dumbledore continued speaking, “Unfortunately, at least you were. What happened Alastor? When did you lose vision of what we wished to accomplish that would make you want to leave?”
Alastor fell down as he felt the hold on his throat disappear. He growled at Dumbledore, “Wished to accomplish? Albus look at yourself! Look at what you’ve become. What future are you fighting for, really? You just killed dozens of innocent children and fought a fourteen-year-old to the death. Your allies died and you don’t care. You had me track down a little girl in Rome, only for her to disappear following one of your rituals. You had me join hands with vampires who massacred innocents in the Quidditch World Cup. You had me steal priceless historical artefacts. And look at our country! It’s on the brink of collapse and you’re worrying about a school tournament! Where does it stop, Albus? How many people have to die for your greater good, how many parents have to see their children dying, how many orphans must you make, until it’s enough until you’re satisfied? You’ve gone too far, and you know it.”
Albus glared at him, “I have not gone too far. If anything, I haven’t gone far enough. Do you have any idea what’s coming? Can you even comprehend the severity of what we face? We’re talking about the annihilation of our world, and yet you cling to societal structures and morals as if they mean anything in the grand scheme of things. I am trying to save as many people as I can, preserve as much of our history, of our legacy, as I can.”
“Preserving our history?” Alastor repeated while chuckling bitterly, “Albus, you’re about to desecrate one of the oldest acts of magic in our history. Oh, come on, don’t give me that look. That’s what you’ve been doing for the better part of a year. You sacrifice places of great magic to power some weird rituals. Why would this be any different?”
“It is different for one simple reason. I haven’t been completely truthful about how this place works. Even if the monoliths were subjected to thousands of years of being steeped in magic, they couldn’t possibly be this complex, this powerful. There had to be a catalyst. This is as much of a holy place as it is an altar. After all, only death can pay for life.”
Before he could process what was being said, Alastor’s wooden leg stopped working, making him fall down. Dumbledore flicked his wand and levitated him towards the centre of the circle, settling him down at one of the altars. It wasn’t hard to see where things were going and Alastor gave Dumbledore a pitying look, “Are you still convinced that you haven’t changed? Look at you, Albus. Look at what you’re doing.”
“There is nothing you can say that would save you, Alastor. Although, you’re taking this oddly well.”
Alastor chuckled bitterly, “Do you think I fear Death, Albus? Besides, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. I know my limits more than anyone. I’m wandless, alone, practically limbless, and I can’t apparate given the wards you put up since we got here. But it’s not a big deal, I have nothing to live for, not anymore. I made my peace with death from the moment I saw my wife and daughter’s cooling corpses, hoping that I would reunite with them, one day. I don’t want you to do this, hoping that I’ll live. I want you to stop because of you. I’m telling this as probably your last true friend in the world, you’re falling, spiralling into nothingness.”
There was some truth in what Alastor said. He really didn't have a lot to live for. He was a warrior who wanted the fighting to stop, who wanted to learn once more how to live. He didn't fear death. After all, it was a good way to get killed on the battlefield. The former Auror fought with everything he had, surviving one battle after another, always surpassing the odds. But he knew deep down that fighting Dumbledore wouldn't lead to anything, not without a lot of preparation and a viable escape plan.
He wasn't sure he even wanted to fight Dumbledore, seeing how far the man had fallen. It had been an honour, once, to serve him. Back then, Alastor felt like he was fighting for something, trying to create a better world, and that the smiles on the lives he saved more than made up for the constant deaths that surrounded him. But over time, there were fewer smiling faces, and more screaming and killing. He wished things would go back to the way they used to, before the political complications and obscure plans. He wished he could pull his old friend from the dark path he was taking, but he didn't have much hope in the matter. Still, he had to try.
“I have no other choice,” Dumbledore muttered sadly.
“You do. You always had a choice. Stop letting some obscure fate dictate your actions, define what you are. You can choose to stop, to stand your ground like you used to. I always knew you were ruthless, that you were manipulative, but I never thought you’d even purposefully kill a friend. This is something that you will never be able to take back. This is something that you will always remember. You might try to convince yourself that it was because I betrayed you, but I didn’t do that, did I? Wishing to leave isn’t really a betrayal. Asking to stop fighting all the time, is not something worth being killed for. And slowly, you’ll get to the realization that you’re no better than any Dark Lord in history, that you sacrificed a friend for power, and you’ll have to live with that.”
“Do you think I want this?” the former headmaster muttered, “Do you think me so petty that I would kill you for trying to leave? A life for a life, that’s the law of equivalent exchange, the way most sacrificial magic is portrayed, but it’s more than that. It’s about loss and gain. In the grand scheme of things, your life, Alastor, is not more valuable than that of any other wizard in Britain. However, it’s more meaningful to me. The more I lose, the more I gain from the ritual.”
Alastor looked at Dumbledore and saw the small tears in his eyes. It was then that he understood the truth. Even if he had no plans on running, the former headmaster would have still done this. It had nothing to do with loyalty, but everything to do with loss.
It was how he also understood that he would never be able to talk Dumbledore down from this. He truly was too far gone if he seriously thought that this would justify killing his closest friend. Alastor knew for a fact that he was the man's last anchor to sanity, that his death would truly cement the path that Albus was taking. This was it, the last chance at redemption, the last chance to stop what was coming.
He couldn't let Albus kill him. He wasn't afraid of death, not for a long time, but he was afraid of what his old friend would become after the fact. Dumbledore had always been concerned with the bigger picture, but he'd never been so consumed by it, so much so that he was losing sight of what was important, of his connections to the people he wished to save.
Alastor suddenly rolled, taking his backup wand from the hidden holster in his sleeve, trying to cast a spell at Dumbledore, only for the wand to be immediately thrown from his hand.
However, he wouldn’t be undeterred. He grabbed his wooden leg and activated the hidden rune, sending an explosive release of magic towards Dumbledore, who shielded against it. He threw a knife at the man, only for it to disintegrate into nothing in mid-air. The former Auror slumped completely out of options. This was going to happen. Albus was truly going to kill him.
In the meantime, Dumbledore shed his illusion, showing his wounds, and he gave Alastor a sad smile, “You always did have a lot of tricks up your sleeve. You served me well, now serve me one last time. Your life was mine and it is my right to take back what I have given freely. Your sacrifice will be remembered, for your life will save that of countless others. You shall be remembered as a hero.”
“Albus,” the former Auror pleaded, “Don’t. There's no coming back from this.”
However, the Champion of Light did not heed his warning, and continued, “It’s been an honour, Alastor. Your fight is over and, now is the time for you to rest.”
Just like that, Albus conjured a dagger of light, and stabbed it into Alastor’s heart, and the world froze as if taking breath. Everything stilled, as he could only perceive the pain in his chest and the tears in his murderer’s eyes. He always expected things to go black immediately, but Death was slower than he expected.
He could see the monoliths around him release pulses of white energy, lighting up the world around them. Dumbledore’s injuries started to visibly heal, his hand and eye even regrowing, the massive scar leaking Light was closing up as if it never existed. From the smile on Dumbledore’s face, Alastor knew how much his friend had fallen far more than he ever thought possible.
With Dumbledore fully healed, there was a gigantic pulse of Light, before everything went black. Alastor’s last thoughts were about his family, and how he was about to join them.
AN: To be honest, I regretted halfway through writing this chapter that I used Moody’s POV. There are going to be a lot of consequences for what Dumbledore just did, and it’s a lot more far-reaching than just healing him, which I’ll have to explore later, including the details of the ritual. I think it was interesting to see just how much Dumbledore has fallen from someone who can be considered a friend. I’m not sure I did a good job at it, and 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
Everbond
I have a suggestion. One of the fallout effects starts to return magic to its more chaotic state causing a whole mess of magical explosions and effecting wizards casting and one of the few people who know how to cast in that state would be harry due to what happened in the garden of Avalon I think it was
Afterdark230
RIP Moody, man it’s amazing how far Doumbls has fallen. Always knew he was an ass.
Callum Runchman
Damn. I knew dumbles had gone off the deep end but to sacrifice his most loyal and faithful ally and companion just to accelerate his healing... he's become a monster worse than even voldemort who routinely tortured his followers on a whim. Hell I can even think of any hp villain who's so unbelievably brutal, dark or cruel and yet he's supposed to be the champion of light. This is surely grindelwald and the dark itself's greatest achievement in history, to corrupt the light champion so completely they've taken up their sworn, natural enemy's ways without even realising they've been twisted in such a way
Monzter E
Rip moody
