socalfunplaces Chapter 298, Section 297: The Fall of Dumbledore
Chapter 298, Section 297: The Fall of Dumbledore
Chapter 298, Section 297: The Fall of Dumbledore
Sunlight shines on this peaceful and serene village.
The little girl with freckles on her face originally had a happy smile on her face.
however.
"Albus!"
She walked toward young Dumbledore, holding a dandelion covered in mud.
"Look what I found!"
This was clearly an attempt to share her joy with young Dumbledore; however, young Dumbledore simply swatted the dandelion away from Ariana's hand.
"Don't bother me."
He even raised his wand in a threat.
Young Dumbledore's face was grim, his lips pressed tightly together. Standing opposite him was his sister, Ariana, a girl who couldn't control magic due to childhood trauma.
She trembled, her eyes filled with fear and dread, as if she felt a sense of estrangement from her brother's attitude. Seeing this, the elderly Dumbledore's heart clenched.
"No, this is not me."
The elderly Dumbledore muttered to himself.
at the same time.
The trembling little girl, Ariana, was enveloped in black magical energy.
It seemed like it could erupt at any moment.
Elder Dumbledore's heart raced. He tried to raise the Elder Wand, but magic couldn't reach those distant memories. He could only watch helplessly as the scene he had already foreseen unfolded.
"You've lost control again!" young Dumbledore roared. "You know this will destroy us! You monster!"
"I...I didn't mean to..." Ariana sobbed softly, her magical energy beginning to stir restlessly, the erosion from the Obscurus causing her great pain.
only.
Young Dumbledore showed no pity.
"Shut up!" Young Dumbledore raised his wand, his eyes burning with anger and smoke. Ariana's small hands gripped the hem of Dumbledore's robe tightly, her knuckles white, her eyes brimming with tears. "Albus, don't be like this..." Her voice was barely audible, yet it was like a dull knife.
It slowly tore at the heart of the elderly Dumbledore.
Young Dumbledore's expression was quite the opposite; his reddish-brown curls gleamed coldly in the sunlight. His face bore the impatience Dumbledore knew all too well—the arrogance of a genius disturbed by a mediocre person.
"Shut up!"
The younger version of himself shouted angrily, his wand already pointed at his sister's chest.
"All you do is cry and whine all day!"
His wand began to glow.
"No!"
The elderly Dumbledore abruptly raised his Elder Wand, but the spell vanished into thin air as if it had disappeared into thin air. He watched helplessly as a blinding red light burst from the tip of the young man's wand, piercing Ariana's thin chest with pinpoint accuracy. The girl fell like a puppet with its strings cut, scattering the wild daisies she had just picked across the ground.
The sound of Aberforth slamming open the door was very similar.
It startled the small birds that had built nests nearby.
"Ariana!"
"How dare you? She's our sister!" Aberforth's face was filled with disbelief and horror as he waved his thick arm at the seemingly harmless wand.
The young Albus didn't even turn around; he simply waved his hand behind him.
"Avada Kedavra!"
He started using a large melon to eat.
A flash of green light, and Aberforth's burly body crashed to the ground, his blue eyes, identical to Ariana's, forever frozen in that moment of shock and rage.
"Now it's quiet."
Young Albus casually dusted off his robe.
He bent down to pick up the fallen "Theory of Magic" and continued reading against the apple tree as if nothing had happened, sunlight filtering through the leaves and casting dappled shadows on his face.
It was as if the killing just now was nothing more than brushing away a fallen leaf.
This scene.
It was absolutely terrifying.
Yet what happened seemed incredibly real.
All of this was seen by the elderly Dumbledore. The boy's words were like a knife, piercing the heart of the elderly Dumbledore. He knelt on the ground, his chest heaving violently, tears almost spilling from his eyes.
"Where am I?! Damn it! Where am I?!" The elderly Dumbledore dug his fingers deep into his palms, and blood dripped from between his fingers onto the faded pebbles.
His breathing became heavy.
Ripples appeared in the blue eyes behind the crescent-shaped glasses.
The surrounding scenery began to distort; Ariana's body vanished like sand, and the ruins of the house sank into the ground, replaced by the dome of Hogwarts Great Hall emerging from the mist.
This scene.
The elderly Dumbledore began to force himself to calm down.
"My soul failed the test," the old man murmured to himself, his voice hoarse and unlike his own. "So, am I to be condemned to eternal regret? Or..." He looked up at the taking-off dome mural depicting the glorious deeds of the four founders, "is this the test itself?"
Thinking this way.
In his old age, Dumbledore began to feel that something was influencing his thinking.
This made him somewhat confused and disoriented.
"Don't even think about it." The elderly Dumbledore tried to use magic to protect himself, but even at the legendary level, he still couldn't cast a spell on himself in time.
"I am……"
The old principal's eyes began to cloud.
It was as if an unknown force had completely invaded his mind.
The surrounding scenery began to distort.
The sky turned into chaos.
Everything is changing.
Only Dumbledore's own sorrow remained in the air.
When everything becomes clear again.
Dumbledore found himself in a spacious, bright office, the walls covered with medals and photographs. A gold plaque read:
Albus Dumbledore, President of the Wizarding Association
He stood up, walked to the window, and saw a peaceful and prosperous scene outside—Muggles and wizards lived in harmony, and children ran and played in the streets.
Owls and brooms were flying in the air.
This was exactly what he had been hoping to see.
"Professor, are you ready?"
A familiar voice came from outside the door, and Kingsley Shackler pushed the door open and entered, his expression solemn.
"Grindelwald has invaded Eastern Europe; we must take action."
The visitor began to speak.
Where is he?
Dumbledore asked, his tone calm yet firm.
"Niumongard. He has already gathered a large number of followers and declared that he will establish a new order of wizarding rule." Kingsley Shackle said with a hint of worry.
"Take me to see him."
Dumbledore spoke again.
He felt that some force was influencing him.
He had blurred the lines between reality and illusion—but it didn't matter anymore. Perhaps this was the truth. Dumbledore turned and left the room, carrying memories of Grindelwald that were not entirely familiar to him.
Scene change.
A blizzard swept through the ruins of Nurmengard. Dumbledore stepped alone onto this land shrouded in darkness. He wore a silver-grey robe, held the Elder Wand, and his eyes were piercing.
Grindelwald stood atop a stone tower, his cloak billowing in the wind, his eyes gleaming with madness.
"Albus, you've finally come," he sneered. "I thought you wouldn't come to your death. The world's greatest wizard is nothing but a joke to me."
"I did not come here to die, but to put an end to your ambitions—soon you will know whether I am great or not," Dumbledore said slowly.
The two faced off for a long time before simultaneously waving their wands.
Sparks of magic collided in the air, illuminating the entire ruins.
In the end, Dumbledore struck Grindelwald with a precise "Avada Kedavra," and the man who felt both familiar to him subconsciously and yet seemed completely foreign to him fell to the ground.
"This is not the end, this is the beginning."
Dumbledore looked at Grindelwald, who was trapped.
He said softly.
The fog began to spread.
When it dissipates again.
Dumbledore found himself standing in the center of a magnificent, golden hall.
He has grown old again.
Why use the word "again"?
I haven't had time to think about it yet.
Dumbledore's attention was then diverted elsewhere.
The walls were covered with portraits he had never seen before.
It was all him.
There's also a young Albus Dumbledore, dressed in a magnificent purple-gold robe, with the Order of Merlin, First Class, pinned to his chest, receiving his medal from the Minister of Magic.
"Let us thank Mr. Dumbledore once again!" Fudge's voice boomed in his ears, ten times louder than he vaguely remembered. "It was his decisive action that stopped that madman Grindelwald's plot!"
There was thunderous applause.
In the portrait, Dumbledore bows gracefully, his red hair still vibrant, his face without a single wrinkle, looking so spirited and enviable.
There was not a trace of despondency.
"Is this me?"
As Dumbledore aged, he began to feel confused.
suddenly.
Someone called him.
He turned his head.
The scene changed again.
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was brightly lit, and students cheered and jumped for joy, celebrating Dumbledore's inclusion on the "List of Greatest People of the Century." Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster's seat, with a gentle witch, Allison Black, beside him. Together they had raised two children, one of whom was a magical genius.
One is a Muggle scientist.
"Dad, you are the best hero in the world!"
His daughter excitedly hugged him.
"I just did what I was supposed to do."
Dumbledore answered with a smile.
Professor McGonagall walked over, carrying a cup of Honeydukes' special hot cocoa.
"Albus, aren't you planning to run for Minister of Magic again?"
"I've handed the stage over to the younger generation." He looked out the window, the setting sun casting its rays on his face, highlighting the marks of time. "But I know there are things more important than power."
"Like what?"
"For example, family, responsibility, and... love."
……
perfect.
A life without any burdens or hindrances passed by.
It is so captivating and enchanting.
As life comes to an end, it seems as if a new journey has not begun after closing one's eyes.
This was just a moment of clarity.
The elderly Dumbledore found himself still standing on that meadow.
In front.
He is still that young Dumbledore who killed his family, is studying, and is willing to do anything to achieve his goals and a fulfilling life.
Everything that just happened.
They all seem to represent the future that would occur after making this choice.
"But they are not the future, nor are they the choices I want to make." The long-forgotten true memories returned to Dumbledore's mind once again.
He became that tormented Dumbledore once again.
Those hazy, false memories still lingered in Dumbledore's mind—the newspaper headline "Genius Wizard Single-handedly Defeats Dark Lord," and the photo of himself looking triumphant.
In the Great Hall of Hogwarts, students stood up and applauded to welcome the "greatest headmaster in history"; on the stage of the International Wizarding Federation, he waved the Elder Wand and a burst of dazzling fireworks lit up the sky.
Every scene is radiant, every life is flawless. There is no tragedy of Godric's Hollow, no blood oaths, no sleepless nights.
"What a glorious life," a voice whispered in my ear, sweet as honey, "No weaknesses, no blemishes, only endless glory."
Dumbledore's memory was frozen on a certain scene from a false memory. His white-haired self sat in the chief seat of Wizengamot, surrounded by adoring gazes.
Wizards and Muggles coexisted harmoniously thanks to his efforts.
He is now the true king.
To rule over everything.
The temptation is very strong—at least for most people.
but.
"There are no 'what ifs' in life." The elderly Dumbledore suddenly spoke, his voice resolute. He raised the Elder Wand, its tip gleaming with a dazzling silver light.
"This is not a test at all, but a clumsy seduction!" He did not yearn for such a future; he knew that this was not the future he wanted.
Such a thirst.
It belongs to only another Dumbledore.
One of those Dumbledores abandoned by fate—wherever the silver light touched, the magnificent illusion shattered like glass, and Dumbledore re-examined the false memories.
Everything looks different from this perspective. The "glorious version" of myself is empty and meaningless, and the handshake during the award ceremony is mechanical and rigid.
Utterly hypocritical.
In the dead of night, "he" would talk to himself facing a blank wall, as if someone stood there. It was the torment in his heart that drove him to further depravity in his anger. Most terrifyingly, the Ministry of Magic's most confidential files recorded a series of suspicious repressions, in which all dissenting voices mysteriously disappeared.
This is not a king.
He is a tyrant.
"A soul concealed by a perfect facade is more wretched than a broken one," Dumbledore said softly. As he spoke, the entire illusion began to crumble.
Before him, the bronze door reappeared—within it wrapped countless silver chains, each chain holding a bottle of fate, containing the future that would have occurred had he made other choices.
"I know this is just another trick." Dumbledore had a clear understanding in his mind, but he still couldn't help but lean forward to look for the destiny he hoped for.
And it was precisely this kind of decision.
Let him fall into depravity again.
The surrounding scenery began to change.
A new scenario.
It was conceived within Dumbledore's wavering heart.
He saw another life.
"Here, in this book, is a record of how to deal with the Obscurus problem. I've finally found a useful solution, Ariana. You can finally live like a normal person."
It's another young Dumbledore, but he seems like a good older brother.
"So what is the price, brother?"
Ariana asked the question.
"All it takes is the souls of one million people."
Young Dumbledore was still delighted.
"Death is merciful!"
His tone was somewhat fervent.
(End of this chapter)