Chapter 63. Fearless and Unblamed
In a dark and magical room, filled with the scent of leaves and books, Dumbledore sat behind his massive desk, deeply immersed in thoughts about the difficult events that had engulfed Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy stood at a distance, hesitating to take a seat opposite the great wizard. In this moment of decisiveness, the awaiting members of Dumbledore's Army stood behind him, filled with anticipation, while Professor McGonagall and Fujimaru stood on either side of the table, their gazes full of expectation. Dumbledore's gaze was calm, his thoughts deeply immersed in the mysteries of human relationships.
"So," Malfoy sighed, his voice filled with nervousness, "what are you going to do with me?"
Dumbledore looked up, a twisted smile on his face.
"Do with you?" he replied calmly. "Predictable behavior from Tom Riddle, a scenario I have long anticipated."
The wise wizard stood up from his chair and walked towards the window, which offered a charming view of the Hogwarts courtyard. Malfoy, feeling an incredible sense of uncertainty, felt a weight lifted from his soul as he took the seat offered by Dumbledore. Looking at him, the headmaster continued:
"When we speak the truth and show honesty, it becomes difficult to condemn people. In reality, we must find space for praise. But, you have posed a difficult riddle to me."
Fujimaru listened intently, focusing on every word that revealed meaning. He wanted to know what Dumbledore would do next.
"And what will be your decision, Headmaster?" McGonagall asked anxiously.
"You know, professor," Dumbledore replied, as if intending to dissolve into the air, "I believe in second chances. I believe that every person is capable of change. Including young Malfoy. The path he has chosen now is a first step in the right direction. I just want him to prove to me that my faith in him is not in vain."
Malfoy glanced around uncertainly, shifting his gaze from one familiar face to another.
"Thank you, professor," he whispered in a resigned voice.
The headmaster returned to his place behind the desk.
"My role is to help those who aspire to become better, regardless of where they come from. Let young Mr. Malfoy use this chance and prove that he can become not only a follower of dark forces, but also a noble and worthy person."
Malfoy sat with a perplexed expression on his face, eagerly absorbing every word that Dumbledore uttered.
"Therefore, Draco, you will continue to train with the representatives of this wonderful student club, under professional supervision. Show me that you are worthy of trust."
The young man nodded, his somber gaze meeting those of his peers who were waiting for his decision.
"Do you feel how the winds of change are bringing something that we have all been subconsciously waiting for a long time?" Dumbledore unexpectedly asked and everyone around immediately became alert. "There is more to come, soon you will see it for yourselves."
When the students left the headmaster's office, Dumbledore remained alone with Fujimaru.
"So, what do you plan to do, Director?" Ritsuka asked puzzled. "The safety of your life and the whole school is at stake..."
Dumbledore smiled.
"Did I misunderstand? Does the last Master of mankind really think that I intend to live forever?"
Ritsuka froze in anticipation. He definitely did not understand the director's rhetoric.
"Of course not," Dumbledore replied. "But I don't need that. When I was young, I chased after immortality and power so much. In youth, people often make mistakes and inevitably believe in something. You cannot even imagine what all those searches cost me."
"What did they cost?" Ritsuka asked puzzled.
"Yes. I went too far and had to pay a very high price for it."
Before Dumbledore's eyes, that fateful day resurfaced, when he was still a young lad standing before his deceased sister's body. Aberforth was sitting beside her, deeply shaken by what had happened. There were no tears in their eyes, only a flicker of contempt in Aberforth's eyes when he glanced at his unlucky brother. Ariana's face forever froze in a posthumous mask of confusion.
Dumbledore snapped out of his sad memories and a tear slid down his cheek unnoticed.
"But still... I sought power then, and it eventually came to me on its own. I sought immortality, and it also found me. As long as you live, as long as your descendants live, I will live on in the memory of each of you. I do not know my hour, just like nobody does, but when it comes, I will greet it with my head held high, like an old friend."
With these words, he slowly approached the phoenix perched on the nest and stroked it.
"And... you won't do anything at all?" Ritsuka asked in shock.
"Why wouldn't I?" Dumbledore smiled.
He continued to stroke Fawkes.
"I may be old, my life may be unjust, and I may have found everything I dreamed of in the past, but I still bear the responsibility for my school and for every student."
Dumbledore finished stroking Fawkes and turned his whole body towards Fujimaru.
"Let them come if they wish. But let the Death Eaters not forget who taught them."
The exhausted prime minister reluctantly tore his gaze away from the mountain of papers and sighed. Midnight was approaching, and he had only made it halfway through his workload. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps reached his ears. His eyes instantly turned to the doorknob, but it remained motionless. For a minute, he strained his ears, but could only hear the ticking of the clock filling the room. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and tried to calm himself. No, he wasn't expecting any unexpected visitors at the end of the workday. He had had enough for today. The memory of the last visit from the king suddenly resurfaced in his mind. Arthur Pendragon now dictated his will directly, as if the times of absolute monarchy had returned to Britain, and the prime minister and parliament were merely links in the chain between the king and the people. But how long would this last?
The prime minister took a step away from his desk and reached into his pocket for his cigarette case, but couldn't find it. Disappointed, he gazed at the sprawling cityscape in front of him and focused on the memory of their last meeting. Was he doing everything right? Perhaps he should have refused the king's claim to power back then?
As soon as this thought entered his consciousness, the prime minister remembered Arthur's words about the need to dismiss him and dissolve the government. If he had even the slightest chance of holding onto his position, now was the time for action. Whoever was hiding behind Arthur Pendragon's figure, this great king of the past was undoubtedly testing their patience with all his might. But how long would they have to wait for the required actions from Arthur?
At this late hour, two passersby strolled down the street. It seemed that they were either tourists or unaware that a mysterious creature had roamed London just a few months ago. Where was it now?
The prime minister's musings were interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Come in," the prime minister said slowly and turned towards the door.
A familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. The figure was slightly taller than five feet, clad in a cloak, and a golden mask with a lion's face adorned their head.
"Your Majesty?" the prime minister asked uncertainly. "Is it time?"
The king approached the prime minister in silence.
"Not yet," Arthur calmly replied, gazing out the window.
"But then why..." the prime minister began, but stopped himself.
"I've heard rumors that the Death Eaters are planning something new," the king turned to the prime minister, his invisible eyes directed right at his face. "Just as a precaution, avoid the windows."
Cautiously, the prime minister stepped away from the window and then glanced at the king, his expression filled with confusion.
"I didn't think there was a reason for you to worry about my safety," the prime minister said with trepidation.
"Neither did I. But it's always wise to be cautious," Arthur replied.
The prime minister's thoughts returned to the image of King Arthur.
"To be honest, when I first saw your face..." he began, and immediately stumbled. "I didn't think you would be so..."
A deafening explosion pierced the air, shaking the ground beneath the feet of the Prime Minister and the King. A ball of fire shot up into the sky, causing the hearts of the onlookers to tremble. Shattered glass created a symphony of crystal shards. The wall of the nearest building outside the window crumbled into sandy dust, obscuring the Prime Minister and the King's view of the outside world.
The thunder of crumbling walls was just the precursor to the true nightmare that descended upon the administrative district. Death Eaters, disturbing the peace, breached the borders of their safe refuge. Sinister creatures, guardians of darkness, emerged from hiding, their eyes filled with malice and bloodlust. Arthur immediately unsheathed the legendary Excalibur, while the Prime Minister retrieved a revolver from a drawer and activated the alarm. The weapons fell into the hands of the Prime Minister and the King, shaking the Prime Minister's trembling muscles.
"Prime Minister, follow me!" the King yelled, shedding his cloak. Arthur's majestic image dissolved into the mighty warrior he once was in his era.
The corridors of the Prime Minister's residence were flooded with repulsive creatures that resembled decomposing corpses. Their skin was covered in scales, and their breath wafted in gray tendrils, filling the air with a putrid stench of decay. Death paralyzed their hearts, robbing them of their souls and whatever was left of their humanity. The steps of the King and the Prime Minister grew quiet as these gloomy creatures drew closer, accompanied by the clicking of their claws on the marble floor. Arthur was prepared for the battle, having endured his share of death and destruction, but the betrayal of time slipping through his fingers and a convergence of circumstances hindered him from fully unleashing his power. The attack was so unexpected that they found themselves surrounded on all sides, trapped in a labyrinth of narrow corridors and rooms with no other exits. Whether it was a coincidence or a cunning plan by the Death Eaters remained a great question, one they didn't even attempt to answer.
The battle unfolded in the labyrinth of the castle's narrow corridors. Moving past lost frescoes and stone statues, the Prime Minister felt the fight not only around him but also within himself. In each step, the music of death resounded, where every breath became a bitter reminder of the unreliability of life. Every movement only proved that not only the fate of the world was at stake, but also their own souls.
Excalibur's blade swung deadly, slicing through obstacles and the life of any creature that dared to resist. Belief, cruelty, genius, and bravery converged, challenging the forces of darkness and the treachery with which Voldemort, silently and relentlessly, approached them.
Among the dead, the Prime Minister recognized a few dressed in the uniforms of the guards. His hand trembled in surprise as he fired a bullet at one of them. The figure collapsed and fell silent. Naturally, a smile appeared on the Prime Minister's face. Leaning against the wall, he slowly slid down it, clinging to the last thread of sanity, determined not to part with it completely.
With incredible energy, Arthur bounced off the wall and charged straight into the crowd of monsters, followed by the Death Eaters. His blade shined brighter than the sun, a sign of the imminent end. He hacked his way through flesh and bone, paying no attention to the number of enemies continually pressing on. And his companion, now devoid of his own will due to the Prime Minister's fear, mechanically fired bullets from the revolver without mercy, repeatedly squeezing the trigger without aiming at anyone specific.
The battle raged on, and blood soaked every detail of the scene. Dark warriors and gods of death fought for souls unwilling to leave this world of conquest. Fear, despair, courage, and hope merged into a single ominous call, creating a ring of indispensability and desperation.
Finally, King Arthur broke through to the Death Eaters. Standing before them, he shielded the Prime Minister who had been following him closely and swung his sword for all to see.
Arthur's sword gleamed in the air, slicing through the darkness and creating a whistling sound. The blade cut through the enemies, scattering them like a downpour of fiery arrows. But in response to his strikes, the Death Eaters continued their advance, supported by the risen dead and dementors, like an endless wave of darkness and destruction.
Suddenly, a colossal figure emerged from the crowd of enemies. Hercules flexed his biceps, his breath resembling the winds of Hades, and took a ready position. Hercules' blade clashed with Arthur's shining sword in a whirlwind of fire, steel, and their encounter rang out with a loud clang of swords.
A powerful shockwave rolled across the battlefield, cracking the ground, and everything around froze in anticipation of the decisive confrontation. The marble cracked, and all sounds ceased as if Hercules' mighty blade, carved from the rocks, absorbed the fateful strike like a shield. The mighty muscles rolled beneath the skin of the ancient hero, magnificent like ancient sculptures of athletes, surpassing a mere mortal. In front of his face, the king's legs moved unsteadily, the armor creaked menacingly, but Arthur did not retreat an inch.
They spun in a chaotic dance, shimmering in fire and shadow. Blood mixed with sweat, darkening on their bodies, but their determination did not waver. The strikes became stronger, more merciless, and their swords rang louder, as if the participants in this fight were trying to rewrite destiny itself.
They were engulfed in the frenzy of battle, like two ancient godlike servants, when their blades met in a swift whirlwind of fury and passion. The atmosphere was saturated with energy and magic, creating shimmering circles of fire around them. The gleam of their swords reflected the glimmers of the burning flames, as they simultaneously attacked and blocked each other's strikes.
Marble floors cracked under the pressure of their immense strength, revealing fissures like wounds on the earth's surface. The roar of powerful blows filled the silence as the lightning-fast blades crossed, leaving trails of flames in the air. Each strike was like a thunderous blow from a thunder god's hammer, shaking the surrounding world and causing vibrations in the depths of the earth. Dark clouds gathered around their battle, mysteriously reflecting the invisible forces that had infiltrated this deadly duel.
Arthur and Hercules pursued only one goal - to defeat each other. Their actions burned with an uncontrollable thirst for victory, an incredible ability to surpass the limits of strength. Fire of uncontrolled rage and madness burned in Hercules' eyes. It was evident that at a certain moment, the repetitive strikes reached their limit, where everything fell silent again, and at that moment, the spectators held their breath.
But then, like a storm of explosive emotions, which was the very lifeblood of this battle, Arthur executed a masterful strike, slicing through Hercules' armor with his sword. The hero of myths and legends, defending himself with all his might, failed to dodge, and Arthur's sword pierced his mighty chest. Hercules' cry - a storm of moaning and the deafening roar of a wild beast - burst from the depths of his chest but immediately died down under the pressure of Arthur's victory.
Silence hung in the air, causing everyone nearby to freeze. Arthur's flaming sword shone brightly, illuminating the interpretation of what had just happened. The mortal wound of Hercules had depleted his strength, bringing an end to the great god. Arthur, resting on the shoulders of victory, looked into the depths of the surrounding darkness, knowing that this victory also held a mournful meaning.
Arthur, shocked by his victory, stepped forward, struggling to catch his breath. His gaze took in the battlefield, where smoke and ash merged into one. Silence, infused with blood and tears, enveloped every corner of this grim temple of death.
The colossal creature coughed and its gaze dimmed before collapsing to the ground and immediately rising again, obeying one of the Death Eaters' commands.
The Death Eaters stood before Arthur, watching in awe as Excalibur, shining brightly, rested in the king's hands. One of the figures attentively studied the gigantic Hercules with their gaze. After a couple of seconds, they began to disappear one by one, leaving the premier's residence. Only Voldemort remained. The fearsome dark wizard narrowed his scarlet eyes, shining with mystical light in the darkness, and shook his head before also vanishing.
A minute later, the premier snapped out of it. He approached Arthur, who stood frozen in the corridor. Barely finding his words, he asked the only question.
"What was that?"
"A warning," the king replied. "And a test."