In death Albus Dumbledore kept even more secrets than he did while he lived, or did he?

Over the years his extensive research and obsession in halting Tom Riddle's ambitions made him gather knowledge of darker magics than anyone could imagine. Much, much darker indeed, since it'd seem that mastering the deathly hallows wasn't the only way to cheat death, nor was it the philosopher's stone.

There was a third relic, a dark, cursed object passed from one living vessel to the next by means of blood, much in the way Tom had wrongly thought the elder wand mastery would be passed on. It was old, forgotten lore and as the hallows, thought a simple children's bed tale. It took him most of his life to collect enough information on the relic to begin its search; He knew anything he could find, Tom would be able to as well. The day of lord Voldemort's return would come sooner than later, but by then the relic and any and all information on it would be long gone. Voldemort will never know such a thing could ever have been his to take, he'd make sure of it.

It was in the summer between Harry's second and third year at Hogwarts that he was finally able to locate the darkest of wizards, owner of the relic. He'd been an ordinary man until the foul dark magic of the corrupted thing took hold of him. It was older than the hallows, a thing that came to be by Merlin's time, although not directly created by him. The lore on the ancient magician was scarce and inconsistent at best. Oh, but he'd come to know so much about him, and soon too.

There, in the dark vaulted crypt where the dark one laid in sempiternal slumber, his haggard servant stood in wait for the one who'd freed him of his master, the one who'd finally ended his life so he could finally be free of this wretched existence. But first he had to test this subject, as he'd done so many before, never achieving the desired outcome. Behind him the relic waited to be claimed by its next vessel.

"You're looking for the mystical dagger, and on the blade is written a name, the true name of the dark one…If you were to steal the dagger, you'd control the dark one and then no one would be able to take his power"- Whispered the old man.

"And keep a man as the dark one as a slave? …I can't. But neither can I leave him here to be taken by him-who-must-not-be-named" – Dumbledore answered truthfully.

"Then perhaps instead of controlling the power you need to take it, wield it"

"To be able to turn darkness to light is a fool's errand" he scoffed

"But to use darkness for light, that may be possible" the servant declared

His words sank in, Dumbledore knew there was only one way to proceed and nodded, the old man vanished in a thick mist and a charmed circle surrounded the altar where the dagger rested upon. Slowly he walked in, the magic allowed it knowing he had no ill intentions, no desire of conquest or subjugation. When he held the dagger, he could finally see the name forged in it and it read "Zoso". He muttered his name thinking aloud, trying to remember ancient texts pertaining to a wizard of such name and; on the third murmur the dark one appeared opposite him, laying in a platform seemingly deep in slumber, his face and body covered by a thick cloak. Not wanting to spend more time than necessary in the creepy cavern, Dumbledore walked up to the form and jammed the cursed dagger on Zoso's heart.

Too many things happened in what felt to him like ages, but were barely seconds. Zoso opened his eyes and laughed like a lunatic, dropping his hood and showing his face. It was the old man's face laughing at Dumbledore and he did until his body fell on the platform, lifeless now. All of his dark, foul magic transferred from his body to him in a swirl of black fumes, enveloping both wizards, giving Albus the memories and knowledge of centuries of dark ones, from those of Zosos' to the origin of it all, Nimue. Darkness seemed to swallow the old wizard and for a moment he thought all was lost; in his quest to best Tom he'd finally turn out to be a beacon of darkness aeons above his enemies' best efforts, for who was a petty human with a horcrux-split soul against the dark one? And then, in the dark one's vault when the lights were almost extinguished and Albus' resolve faltered, Fawkes showed out of nowhere, resting on his master's shoulder and pledging his light to him. It extended from there to his body and extremities, sending the darkness to his right hand where he held the accursed dagger, finally controlling the darkness within.

He looked at it and sighed, for the dagger now read 'Albus'.