Disclaimer: Playing in Rowling's and Riordan's sandbox. They own the toys; we're just having fun!


Previously in Chapter 10:

And Harry cheerfully left the house, whistling to himself. 'Oh yes, that felt good. Sage Vyasa was right after all. You should give in to your darker tendencies sometimes. And that it is necessary to burn down the old guard before a new order can be established. The only question that remains is who does the burning.'


π•Ώπ–—π–Žπ–šπ–’π–›π–Žπ–—π–†π–™π–Š


Chapter 12: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

𝕠𝕣 𝕒𝕀 ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕣π•ͺ 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 π•šπ•₯ '𝕀 π•žπ•’π•œπ•– 𝕒 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕝 π•¨π•šπ•₯𝕙 𝔻𝕖𝕒π•₯𝕙'


'The great magical war, woven into the fabric of the Second World War, raged across Europe like an unstoppable tempest. Amidst the devastation, one figure, towering and indomitable, carved a path through the chaos. His eyes, once alight with youthful idealism, now burned with a grim resolve as he fulfilled his duty to the International Confederation of Wizards.

This was a war unlike any other, where the clash of spells matched the ferocity of Muggle weaponry. The skies over Vienna, Paris, and Berlin shimmered with the ethereal glow of magic, the air crackling with the energy of duelling wizards. Amidst the turmoil, our protagonist emerged, a young yet immensely powerful wizard whose mere presence on the battlefield turned the tide of war.

His wand, an instrument of unparalleled power, was a blur in his hand, unleashing torrents of magic that decimated enemy ranks. Entire battalions fell before him, their screams lost in the roar of spells. He moved with a deadly grace, his face a mask of cold determination. The weight of each life taken pressed heavily on his conscience, but he steeled himself, knowing that the fate of the wizarding world hinged on his actions.

In the ruins of once-great cities, he stood as a beacon of hope and terror. The enemy, led by the darkly charismatic Gellert, was relentless, but so was he. His magic, honed to lethal precision, tore through the ranks of Grindelwald's followers. Firestorms engulfed entire legions, while the ground beneath his enemies erupted in a cascade of molten fury. Those who survived his initial onslaught found themselves ensnared by spells that bound their wills and crushed their spirits.

He was no stranger to the darker aspects of magic. With a mere flick of his wrist, he could rend the fabric of reality, conjuring nightmares that shattered minds and broke souls. Illusions danced around him, phantoms of fear and despair that drove his enemies to madness. He wielded power that few could comprehend, let alone withstand, and the battlefield became his dominion, a twisted canvas painted with the blood of the fallen.

Yet, even as he waded through the carnage, his heart was heavy with sorrow. Each life taken was a burden, each death a mark on his soul. He saw the faces of the dead in his dreams, heard their cries in the silence of the night. The cost of victory was steep, and he bore it alone, a solitary figure amidst the ruins of war.

The culmination of his bloody journey brought him to a final confrontation with Grindelwald. The battle was cataclysmic, a clash of titans that shook the very foundations of the magical world. Spells of unimaginable power were exchanged, the air thick with the scent of ozone and the sound of shattering stone. In the end, it was his unwavering resolve, his ironclad will, that prevailed. Grindelwald was defeated, his reign of terror ended.

The war had left its mark on him, indelibly etched into his soul. He stood amidst the ruins, the weight of his actions bearing down on him. The memory of those he had slain haunted him, a spectre that would follow him for the rest of his days. With a solemn vow, he resolved to never again take a life, to seek redemption for the bloodshed he had wrought.

In the aftermath, he became a figure of legend, a hero to some, a monster to others. But he carried with him the lessons of war, the knowledge of the darkness within and the strength it took to overcome it. And so, he retreated from the battlefield, his heart heavy with the sins of his past, his mind forever marked by the horrors he had endured.'

- Excerpt from the "The Rise and Fall of Dumbledore", by Luna Lovegood


As Harry departed Grimmauld Place, leaving behind a stunned and speechless audience, chaos erupted within the ancestral home of the Black family. Voices clashed in heated debate, shouting over one another in a cacophony of disbelief and outrage.

Sirius Black paced the room, his features twisted with frustration and concern. "What in Merlin's name just happened?" he demanded, his voice laced with disbelief.

Snape scanned the room with suspicion. "The brat's lost his marbles," he growled, his hatred of anything to do with the Potter family shining through.

Molly Weasley wrung her hands nervously, her face pale with shock. "I can't believe Harry would say such things," she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion.

McGonagall stood hunched, the years showing on her face. "What are we going to do, Albus?"

Ron, Ginny, and the Weasley twins exchanged bewildered glances, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Hermione furrowed her brow, lost in thought as she tried to make sense of Harry's drastic demands.

Dumbledore remained silent, his aged features betraying concern and contemplation. His mind raced with possibilities, trying to decipher the implications of Harry's words and actions. The Wizarding World hung on the precipice of Harry's demands. 'And damn it all to hell, the boy is not wrong.' He had let the worst of the perpetrators go free. Lucius Malfoy would be behind bars, or hung to death if he was a Muggle, but the Wizarding World allowed him to remain a free, respected man, and one of the biggest political powers in the country.

"Albus, I demand you do something about the brat!" seethed Snape. "How dare he insult me? We should put him under the Imperius and throw him in front of the Dark Lord. That way, he would need to fight him to get out of there alive." 'And Potter will obviously die, that no-good talentless spawn of James Potter. And my revenge against the Marauders will be complete.'

"Is that how you want to treat Lily's son, Severus?", Dumbledore asked, peering over his glasses. 'Something isn't correct'. And for the first time since Snape had made that vow to protect Harry to him, Dumbledore truly looked at Severus Snape. People said Tom was the greatest Legilimancer to ever exist, and Dumbledore promoted that myth. 'After all, it's best if you aren't known for being the strongest practitioner of an art generally classified as Dark. No one would trust you then.'

Dumbledore's eyes locked onto Severus Snape's with an intensity that seemed to transcend the physical realm. As their gazes met, the room around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two wizards in a silent, psychic duel. With an almost imperceptible flicker of his wand, Dumbledore initiated the Legilimency probe.

The initial breach was subtle, a delicate tendril of thought extending from Dumbledore's mind into Snape's consciousness. But as soon as it made contact, the probe intensified. It was as if a powerful wave had crashed against Snape's mental defences, a forceful yet controlled surge of magical energy.

Snape's Occlumency shields were formidable, honed through years of practice and necessity. Layers of obfuscation and false memories intertwined, creating a labyrinth designed to mislead any intruder. Yet, Dumbledore navigated this intricate web with the precision of a master, his mind slicing through the layers with calculated precision.

Images and memories flashed by in a chaotic blur: Snape's encounters with Voldemort, the countless moments of feigned loyalty, and the clandestine meetings with Dumbledore himself. Each fragment was scrutinised, dissected, and then discarded as Dumbledore pressed further, seeking the core of Snape's true intentions.

The mental struggle became a fierce battle of wills. Snape's defences morphed and shifted, attempting to redirect and deceive. He summoned memories of mundane Potions lessons, trivial interactions, and fabricated betrayals. But Dumbledore was relentless. His mental presence expanded, an inexorable force pushing through every barrier, unravelling every falsehood.

At last, Dumbledore reached the heart of Snape's mind. Here, in the deepest recesses, lay the truth that had been obscured for so long. It was a place of raw emotion and unfiltered thoughts, where Snape's genuine loyalty and motivations lay bare.

And what Dumbledore discovered there revolted him to the core. Snape's loyalty had always been a facade, a mask to conceal his true allegiance. He had played both sides with cunning precision, orchestrating events to further his own agenda while feigning allegiance to Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. Snape's twisted obsession with Lily Potter had driven him to unspeakable depths of depravity, his actions motivated by a selfish desire for possession rather than any semblance of love or loyalty.

Dumbledore's blood ran cold as he unearthed the extent of Snape's betrayal. The man had systematically undermined the efforts of the Light Side, manipulating situations to ensure the triumph of darkness. He had single handedly orchestrated the death of Auror and the Healer corps by ensuring that no deserving candidate ever took his Potions classes, grooming the next generation of Death Eater sympathisers under the guise of education.

In a moment of unbridled fury and disgust, Dumbledore's wand lashed out, unleashing the killing curse upon Severus Snape. The spell struck true, bringing a swift and undeservingly merciful end to the life of the man who had betrayed them all. As Snape's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, Dumbledore was left grappling with the weight of his own actions, the realisation of what he had done settling heavily upon him.

Silence fell over the room as the shock of Dumbledore's actions reverberated through the air. Wide-eyed and bewildered, the occupants of Grimmauld Place stared in disbelief at the lifeless form of Severus Snape, their minds struggling to comprehend the sudden and violent turn of events. Questions hung heavy in the air, unspoken and unanswered, as they turned their gaze to Dumbledore, seeking an explanation for the unthinkable act they had just witnessed.

But Dumbledore offered no solace, no explanation for his actions. With a heavy heart and a troubled mind, he turned away from the stunned faces of his comrades and departed from the house without a word. Racing against time and fate, he pursued the elusive figure of Harry Potter, his thoughts consumed by the urgency of the moment and the weight of his own conscience.

Through the bustling streets of Muggle London, Dumbledore hurried, his robes billowing behind him as he navigated the crowded thoroughfares with practised ease. The urgency of his steps matched the racing beat of his heart, each stride carrying him closer to the elusive figure of Harry Potter.

Amidst the sea of bustling pedestrians and honking cars, Dumbledore's keen eyes searched for any sign of the young wizard, his determination driving him forward despite the chaos of the city around him. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts and fears, each one urging him to reach Harry before it was too late.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pursuit, Dumbledore caught sight of Harry's distinctive figure up ahead. With renewed determination, he quickened his pace, closing the distance between them with each passing moment until he stood before the young wizard, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"Harry," Dumbledore called out, his voice filled with a sense of urgency and concern. "Wait!"


"Dumbledore", Harry turned as the Headmaster of Hogwarts caught up to him. "I have said all that I wanted to. There's nothing more that you are getting out of me."

"No, it's not that, my boy", Dumbledore seemed to falter. "You were correct. This is not your fight. It was never meant to be. But it isn't mine either."

With a solemn nod, Harry listened as Dumbledore delved into his own history, recounting the dark days of the war against Grindelwald. "With a wave of my wand, millions fell to their death," Dumbledore admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of his past sins. "I was so horrified by my own actions that I vowed never to be directly involved in the killing of other humans again."

Dumbledore's words hung heavily in the air as he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. "When the time came to confront Grindelwald, I couldn't bring myself to kill him for all his crimes. Instead, I defeated him, and in doing so, I was cursed."

Pausing for a moment, Dumbledore fixed Harry with a penetrating gaze. "Tell me Harry, are you familiar with the story of the Deathly Hallows?" he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of sadness and regret.

"The children's tale from The Tales of Beedle the Bard? The one where Death gifted three brothers with gifts for managing to outsmart him? Yeah, I have read it. Isn't it just a bedtime story though?"

"You see, Harry, all stories have a kernel of truth to them," Dumbledore explained, his tone grave. "Whether it was Death himself who bestowed the three brothers with their artefacts, or if they were indeed powerful necromancers who crafted the items themselves, imbuing them with the essence of Death, is a mystery lost to time."

He paused, his eyes clouded with memories of days long past. "The Resurrection Stone and the Invisibility Cloak vanished with the deaths of the two younger Peverell brothers," he continued, his voice trailing off slightly. "But the Elder Wand, the Elder Wand has reappeared throughout history, a symbol of power and temptation."

Harry listened intently, his mind racing with questions. "People have searched tirelessly for these artefacts," Dumbledore went on, his voice growing sombre. "Gellert and I, we were among them. We believed that by reuniting the Hallows, we could master Death itself."

A shadow crossed Dumbledore's face as he recounted the events of his youth. "But fate had other plans," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "My obsession with the Hallows brought about the death of my sister, but Gellert, he persisted. He found the Elder Wand, and with it, he brought Death itself to Europe."

"And when I finally confronted him," Dumbledore continued, his voice trembling with emotion, "I gained the allegiance of the Elder Wand."

Harry's eyes widened in realisation as Dumbledore revealed the truth about the Elder Wand's power. "But the Elder Wand is not like any other wand," Dumbledore explained, his voice tinged with sadness. "It cannot be conquered or forced into submission. Only a true Peverell can wield it without succumbing to its bloodthirst. My master, Nicholas Flamel had a saying, 'Wand of Elder, Never Prosper'. But I was young, and idealistic, and I thought I could wield the power of the deathstick without succumbing to its madness. And I took an oath that day, that I would never be the cause of death of another person."

"In my attempts to control the Elder Wand, I became its puppet," Dumbledore confessed, his voice heavy with regret. "I watched helplessly as my country tore itself apart in a civil war, unable to intervene except to try and save lives. But even then, I ended up doing more harm than good, Harry."

Harry listened intently, his heart heavy with the weight of Dumbledore's words. "If I hadn't been on the Wizengamot tribunal," Dumbledore continued, his tone sombre, "if I had allowed Barty Crouch to have his way, all those accused of being Death Eaters would have been dead. We would have been living in a better society. But my oath prevented me from letting those people die, and they exploited that weakness, bribing their way through the system to clear their names."

"Now, war once again looms on the horizon," Dumbledore said, his expression one of defeat. "And I have already broken the oath I swore earlier. Magic will come for me with a vengeance for breaking my word, but I am strong enough to hold it at bay for a little longer. Do you know why I sought you out, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, his mind reeling with the weight of Dumbledore's revelations.

Dumbledore's eyes bore into Harry's, a solemn intensity burning within them. "Because, Harry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "you are the last living descendant of the Peverell line. You are the true owner and master of the Deathstick."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as Dumbledore's words sank in. "Me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Yes, you," he confirmed. "And now, I ask of you one final favour. Disarm me, Harry. Take the Elder Wand from me and become its true master."

"Why are you giving this to me?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Wouldn't it be better in the hands of someone who will fight Voldemort?"

Dumbledore smiled serenely, his eyes twinkling with a wisdom that seemed to transcend time itself. "The Peverells have been denied their heritage for too long," he replied. "It is time that a true Peverell once again roamed the world."

Harry's mind whirled with the implications of Dumbledore's words. "But what about defeating Voldemort?" he pressed, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Dumbledore's smile remained unchanged. "Your life is yours to do with as you please, Harry," he said gently. "If you choose to confront Voldemort, that is your decision to make. If not, I have no complaints. The Elder Wand is yours now, to wield as you see fit. Disarm me, my boy. And promise me, you will show this world the true power of the Peverell name once again."

As Dumbledore finished speaking, the weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Harry's hand tightened around his wand, a resolve hardening within him. With a swift, determined motion, he raised his wand and pointed it at Dumbledore. The familiar incantation, "Expelliarmus," escaped his lips, and a beam of red light shot from his wand.

Time seemed to slow as the disarming spell surged towards Dumbledore. He stood still, his expression serene, making no move to resist. The red light struck Dumbledore squarely in the chest, and the Elder Wand, gripped loosely in his hand, was wrenched free by an unseen force.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, the wand hovered in mid-air between them. Then, as if pulled by an invisible string, it flew towards Harry. A burst of eldritch energy erupted from the wand, crackling and arcing as it responded to the shift in ownership. The room was bathed in a surreal, ethereal glow as the wand reached Harry's outstretched hand.

As Harry grasped the wand, a shockwave of power surged through him. He felt the wand's ancient magic resonating with his own, a sense of cosmic significance filling the air. The Elder Wand began to transform, its length extending and twisting until it resembled not just a wand, but a staff made of ancient elder wood.

The transformation reached its climax with a final burst of light, the staff settling into Harry's grip with a profound sense of belonging. In that moment, it was as if the staff had found its true master. Harry felt a deep, unspoken connection to the ancient artefact, its power flowing through him like a river of magic.

The room seemed to hum with energy as Harry stood there, the staff in his hand. Dumbledore watched him with a knowing smile, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and resignation. Harry understood now, the burden and the power that had been passed to him. The Elder Wand, in its new form, was his to wield, and the weight of its history and potential rested squarely on his shoulders.

As Dumbledore fell to the ground, Harry rushed to his side, his heart heavy with sorrow. The person he had once considered his mentor and grandfather was now fading before his eyes, and there was almost nothing he could do to stop it. Dumbledore's eyes held a peaceful resignation as he gazed up at Harry.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Harry cradled Dumbledore's head in his arms, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry, Professor," he whispered, his words barely audible amidst the sounds of the bustling city around them.

Dumbledore's smile was gentle, his gaze unwavering. "There is nothing to be sorry for, my boy," he replied softly. "To the wise, Death is but the next great adventure."

"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love. And I have lived a life full of love."

Harry shook his head, his resolve hardening. "No," he said firmly, though his voice wavered with grief. "I can't accept this. You can't leave like this."

The ambient energies, tinged with the potent essence of death from the Elder Wand's recent transformation, seemed to stir around Harry. They recognized him as the one destined to become the Master of Death, echoing ancient prophecies and legends.

Suddenly, the scene shifted. Harry found himself standing at the edge of a dense forest, overlooking a bridge that spanned a wide, rushing river. The air was thick with a surreal, otherworldly atmosphere, as if time itself had paused.

There was only one path forward, and Harry knew it instinctively. With each step he took towards the bridge, the ambient energies swirled around him, guiding him towards a meeting that felt both inevitable and daunting.

As he stepped onto the bridge, he felt a presence beside him. A figure cloaked in darkness and yet radiating a quiet, ancient wisdom stood before him. It was Death itself, the embodiment of the final journey all must take.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he looked upon Death. The figure spoke, its voice like a whisper carried on the wind, "Harry Potter, you seek that which many desire but few understand."

In that profound moment, Harry's thoughts raced back to his favourite comic book superhero, one Percy had introduced him to, and he immediately knew what he had to do.

With resolve tinged with a touch of humour and determination, Harry found his voice.

"Death," he began, his tone steady yet infused with the spirit of his hero, "I have come to bargain."

The figure of Death regarded him with eyes that seemed to pierce through time itself. There was a hint of curiosity in Death's gaze, a recognition of the audacity and sincerity in Harry's words.

"You seek to alter the course of fate," Death murmured, its voice resonating with the weight of eons. "Few dare to challenge what is written."

Harry met Death's gaze unwaveringly. "Dumbledore cannot die like this," he said firmly. "He's... he's too important. There's still so much he has to do."

Death regarded Harry silently for a moment, the air around them thick with the gravity of their conversation. Finally, Death spoke in a voice that seemed to echo from beyond the veil of existence itself. "What do you bring in exchange for an old man's life?"

Harry didn't hesitate. "A thousand years of life," he declared, his words cutting through the solemn silence. "Not mine. I will sacrifice the whole bloody wizarding world if I have to. People like Lucius Malfoy are in abundance. It would be no great loss for their lives to be forfeited in exchange for Dumbledore's."

Death's expression was inscrutable, but a flicker of something akin to respect crossed its features. "Such an offer," Death intoned, "comes with consequences that cannot be undone."

"I understand," Harry replied, his voice steady despite the enormity of what he was proposing. "But Dumbledore's wisdom and guidance are invaluable. The world needs him."

Harry stood before Death, the weight of their conversation pressing down upon him like a heavy cloak. He had offered a thousand years of lives, recklessly challenging fate for Dumbledore's sake. But Death's response was not what he had expected.

"You are bold, Harry Potter," Death intoned, its voice resonating with ancient wisdom. "But a thousand years of worthless lives are not enough for the exchange of even ten years of a good man. You must offer me more."

Harry's heart sank. He had gambled everything, yet it seemed it wasn't enough. The enormity of what he was proposing weighed heavily on his conscience. How could he possibly offer more than he already had?

In the depths of his despair, a memory stirred within him. A lesson from the pages of Percy's comic books, where heroes faced impossible choices and made sacrifices beyond measure. A hero's destiny was often one of sacrifice.

Suddenly, realisation dawned on Harry. He looked Death in the eye, his resolve hardening. "I understand," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "If a thousand years of lives aren't sufficient, then I offer myself."

Death's expression remained inscrutable, but a glint of something like recognition flickered in its eyes. The air around them seemed to vibrate with the weight of Harry's offer.

"I offer my years," Harry continued, his voice unwavering. "Not as a payment, but as a servant to Death. My life, my being, dedicated to balancing the scales, ensuring that the world remains in harmony."

For a long moment, Death said nothing. The cosmic energies around them swirled and danced, as if considering Harry's offer. The bridge beneath their feet seemed to hum with anticipation, the boundary between life and death poised on a knife's edge.

Finally, Death spoke, its voice low and resonant. "Very well, Harry Potter," Death intoned, its tone carrying a weight that echoed through the ages. "Your offer is accepted."

And the scene faded, the eerie forest, the mist, the bridge and the river dissolving into nothingness as Harry was returned back to the real world.


"You stupid, stupid, idiot, brave boy. Why would you ever agree to such a thing? Why even propose it?" Sally's voice echoed with a mixture of anger, concern, and disbelief as she stood before Harry, her eyes ablaze with a fierce maternal intensity. In the room around them, the Outliersβ€”Cedric, Daphne, Padma, Luna, Nevilleβ€”watched in solemn silence, alongside Dumbledore and Fawkes, who nested peacefully nearby. Percy had glued himself to Harry's side, even ready to fight Death if it came for his brother.

Harry met Sally's gaze evenly, though he could feel the weight of her words bearing down on him like a heavy burden. "All my life, decisions were made for me," he began, his voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. "I never had a say in my fate, never had the chance to choose my path openly. Meeting you and Percy, taking my fate into my own handsβ€”it's probably the bravest thing I've ever done."

Sally's expression softened slightly, though her concern remained palpable. "But saving Dumbledore's life, Harry," she interjected, her tone pleading yet firm. "That was too much of a risk. You put yourself in grave danger, all for..."

Harry held up a hand, cutting her off gently. "I know, mom," he said earnestly. "I'm still seriously pissed with Dumbledore. I'm not going to forget his actions any time soon." He glanced briefly at Dumbledore, who met his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and remorse. "But I came here to forgive them, to understand."

Dumbledore, sitting nearby with Fawkes perched contentedly on his shoulder, spoke up with a voice softened by age and wisdom. "Harry, my boy," he said quietly, "what I asked of you was indeed a great burden. I do not expect you to forgive me lightly. But know thisβ€”I made a grave mistake, and you showed me the power of forgiveness and the strength of a true heart."

Harry nodded slowly, processing Dumbledore's words. "I understand, Professor," he replied, his voice tinged with a mix of determination and compassion. "I don't know if I'll ever fully understand your decisions, but I see the bigger picture now."

"And isn't Death supposed to be this impartial judge? I could think of much worse people to pledge my life to," Luna remarked serenely, her voice carrying its usual dreamy quality but with a sharp undertone of insight.

The room turned to Luna, curious and expectant. She continued, her eyes drifting to Percy momentarily before returning to Harry. "At this point in time, Death is probably the best and worst one for Harry to tie himself to. His blood carries the destiny of Death, the might of the Peverells, and that gives him bargaining room. It was literally Harry's destiny to become 'Death's Master', but as no one can ever truly master death, that might have been a fancy title for Death's lapdog. However, a time of great change is coming."

Luna's words hung in the air, stirring contemplation among those present. "Forces are at play that will truly alter the way the world works," she continued, her tone steady and prophetic, "and in these times, Death is always active."

Harry absorbed Luna's insights, a sense of both duty and destiny settling upon him. He looked around at his companionsβ€”Sally, Dumbledore, the Outliersβ€”each face reflecting a mixture of concern, respect, and unwavering support. Fawkes trilled softly, the phoenix's presence a soothing presence amidst the weighty discussion.

Sally stepped forward, her expression softened with maternal pride. "Harry," she said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, "you've always had a way of defying odds and standing up for what's right. Whatever lies ahead, know that we're here for you, always."

"Indeed we are, my boy. And in the same spirit, I now offer my services. I am free of my oath, and free of the curse that the deathstick put on me. I know the other thing you offered to Death in exchange for my life. And I believe it is my duty to help you achieve that. After all, isn't that the exact thing you demanded of me back at Grimmauld Place?"

"What other thing is he talking about, Harry?" Sally and Daphne demanded at the same time.

Harry hesitated, then sighed. "I promised Death a thousand years of sacrificed life in exchange for Dumbledore going free," he admitted sheepishly, knowing the gravity of what he had proposed.

Sally and Daphne stared at him, disbelief etched on their faces. "A thousand years? Sacrificed life?" Sally repeated incredulously, her hand tightening slightly on Harry's shoulder.

Under their intense glares, Harry winced as Sally twisted his earlobe firmly. "Ow, ow! Let go, Mom. I won't do this again, I promise," he exclaimed, wincing in pain.

Trying to explain himself amidst the discomfort, Harry continued, "Wizards regularly live 150-200 years, right? Killing a few Death Eaters would easily balance that out."

Sally released his ear with a disapproving shake of her head.

"Well, since Mr. Dumbledore got his life in exchange for these Death Eaters, it is only fair that he does the deed himself, no?" Percy piped up suddenly, his young voice cutting through the silence. Bless his little heart, no one could argue with the nine-year-old's logic, not even Dumbledore.

"Well, little Percy's absolutely right," Luna chimed in, smiling warmly at him. Percy beamed back at her, clearly pleased with the agreement.

"And as it stands, Harry," Luna continued, her voice taking on its characteristic ethereal quality that always made her words seem somehow more significant, "you have another very important thing to do. The nargles have been whispering to me, and they tell me it is crucial that you go to Little Hangleton."

Harry furrowed his brow, his curiosity piqued. "Little Hangleton? What's there?"

Luna's eyes gleamed with an otherworldly knowing. "Little Hangleton is where your new story begins, Harry," she explained cryptically. "You've completed two parts of the set. Now, you must find the third. And for that, you need to go to where it all began."

Harry exchanged a glance with Sally, who nodded thoughtfully. Dumbledore looked intrigued, his blue eyes sparkling with interest. The Outliers listened intently, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and determination.

"But why Little Hangleton?" Padma asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What's in that abandoned town?"

"I have no clue," Luna said in a matter of fact voice. "I only know that it is imperative that Harry goes there. And Harry, you must take Percy with you. He holds a key that you will need."

Percy blinked in surprise, his eyes wide. "Me?" he asked, looking around at everyone.

"Yes, Percy," Luna affirmed with a gentle smile. "You are destined to accompany Harry on this journey. Trust me, the nargles never lie."

Sally frowned, her concern evident. "Now, hold up," she interjected firmly. "Harry is an adult and capable of making his own decisions. I would never object to him taking risks if he believes it's necessary. But Percy will not go. He's too young and inexperienced."

Harry exchanged a glance with Luna, understanding Sally's protective instinct but also knowing the importance of what Luna had foreseen. "Sally, I promise you," Harry began earnestly, "I would never let anything happen to Percy, you know that! He'll be safe with me, I swear."

Luna nodded in agreement, her eyes serene yet resolute. "Mrs. Jackson, the nargles have shown me that without Percy accompanying Harry, in all situations, Harry does not return from his excursion," she explained calmly.

Sally's frown deepened, torn between her instinct to protect Percy and the weight of Luna's prophecy. She looked to Dumbledore, seeking guidance in this moment of uncertainty.

Dumbledore, who had been observing quietly, spoke up with his characteristic wisdom. "Sally, my dear," he began gently, "there are forces at play here that we may not fully understand. Luna has a unique gift for seeing things beyond our ordinary perception."

Sally sighed, realising the gravity of the situation. She turned to Percy, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes. "Percy," she said gently, kneeling down to his eye level, "do you want to go with Harry?"

Percy nodded eagerly, his face alight with excitement. "Yes, Mom," he replied earnestly. "I want to help Harry. He needs me."

Sally sighed again, her maternal instincts battling with the knowledge that Percy had made up his mind. She straightened up, meeting Harry's determined gaze. "Alright then," she conceded reluctantly. "But Harry, you better keep him safe. Promise me."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I promise, Sally," he assured her. "I'll protect Percy with everything I've got."

Sally nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Alright," she said finally, though her worry lingered. "But keep in touch, both of you. And be careful."

As Harry prepared to depart with Percy, gathering their belongings and exchanging last-minute goodbyes with Sally and his friends, Dumbledore approached him with a twinkle in his eye.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, his tone gentle yet cryptic, "before you return to the hotel, I have one final request. Make your way to Diagon Alley with Percy instead."

Harry furrowed his brow, puzzled by Dumbledore's unexpected request. "Diagon Alley?" he repeated, trying to make sense of Dumbledore's cryptic instructions. "Why Diagon Alley, Professor?"

Dumbledore's smile widened, though it held a hint of mystery. "Ah, my boy," he replied with a wink, "all will become clear in due time. Trust in the path that unfolds before you."

Harry exchanged a bemused glance with Luna, who simply shrugged, equally perplexed by Dumbledore's enigmatic words. "Alright, Professor," Harry conceded, deciding to trust Dumbledore's wisdom even if he didn't fully understand it. "Diagon Alley it is."

"Oh, and Fawkes here has agreed to give you two a lift."

And with that Fawkes swooped down, and in a burst of flame, Percy and Harry were gone.


AN: And we are back! Sorry for the long absence everyone. The story picks off right where we left it. Though for people who have been following it for a long time, a re-read would be highly suggested. We have made a lot of changes in the previous few chapters, changes that you do not want to miss as they play a key role in this story of ours.

Till next time!

~π•―π–—π–†π–Œπ–”π–“π–˜π–™π–†π–‹π–‹ 𝖆𝖓𝖉 π•Ώπ–Šπ–ˆπ–π–“π–”π–’π–†π–Œπ–Š~