Chapter 430: Boulder’s Edge
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30 May 1995, Hogwarts
Albus Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts alongside the tournament officials. Hogwarts was no longer his—not officially—but in his heart, it always would be. He had shaped it, reforged it, stripped away the dangers of the magical education of old, and made it safe. During his predecessor's tenure, it wasn't exactly uncommon to have a fatality or two every year for some student who performed a reckless experiment or made a minor blunder. It was often muggleborns, or half-bloods that suffered from this, getting desperate to match their classmates who had been lucky enough to be born with a family crest. It was a barbaric time, with some very concerning practices, something that did not align with Albus' ideals of how an ideal world would work.
And so, Albus had fought tooth and nail to make Britain a safe place, and as he looked at the castle, he knew that he succeeded. Even with him being ousted as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the seed was planted. Generations grew without any magical experimentation, and it was very unlikely that parents would allow their children to be in danger just for some ideals of progressing their legacy, finding the root of magic, or something as ridiculous.
Minerva, while doing a very admirable job as headmistress, did not change his policies, not where it mattered, for the simple reason that she could barely remember how things were before he became a headmaster. Albus had discreetly changed the culture of this entire country, generation by generation, with very few old families, ones that held crests, still clinging to their failing legacies. Even then, Voldemort had done a great job at culling them, unknowingly wiping out centuries of dangerous magical knowledge.
This was his masterpiece, and Albus had no intention of leaving it to rot, to be perverted into something else, by some idiot somewhere down the line. He would return, eventually, but as of now, he had to deal with Ragnarök.
The End of Days was coming, and Albus couldn't deny it anymore. He had thought that it was either some form of punishment of the Dark, a way to torture Gellert for his failure, for being captured instead of dying nobly, or as a plot from his old friend, hoping to string him along, take him off-guard once more.
Unfortunately, it wasn't either. He could feel it in his bones, the Light preparing, hungry for the last fight with its sworn nemesis, ready to burn the world and everything it could get its hand on, just to wipe the Dark out of existence. Albus was dreading it immensely. He would only say it in the privacy of his own mind that he was terrified of what might happen to humanity if this conflict got out of control, which it would likely do. The Light didn't seem to care either way and refused to guide him, for the first time in his life, and it was very unsettling.
As much as he appreciated the Light and wanted to spread its supremacy, he loved humanity more. His entire life's work was to make the magical world a better place, a utopia where children could grow, and experience love and the wonders of magic, as his sister should have.
Destroying it was not something he wanted, yet the Light was unconcerned. Perhaps an entity as vast as the Light had no care for mortal lives—but Albus did. And so, when Gellert proposed creating a ritual, the greatest ritual to ever be made, greater than even the one before the Statute of Secrecy was enacted, wiping out the certainty in muggles that magic was real, just to protect their world.
Light and Dark would descend, and they would fight, but humanity would be protected, frozen in an instant of time, in another universe, ready to be returned once the fighting ended, unharmed by the powers of entities far beyond their comprehension. Perhaps, they would return to ruins, but they would live, they would rise from the ashes, rebuild their homes, and live on under the sovereignty of the victor, be it the Light and Dark, just as the prophecy of Ragnarök stated.
It was an elegant solution, that would have saved humanity, magical and muggles alike. It was the only way forward, the only plan that Albus had that didn't involve billions of deaths. Albus sacrificed his very dream, his utopia, for humanity's survival, and they spat on it. They removed him from his home and tried to banish him away, but he wouldn't be deterred. He was the Champion of Light, a man who held power beyond their comprehension, and he was now back, standing in front of the entrance of the Great Hall, a place that he hoped would survive the End of Days.
Albus' musings were interrupted by the doors opening and he walked alongside the ICW delegation, which he had essentially taken over in everything but name, and they walked forward to the applause of the student body.
A wave of nostalgia washed before Albus. Had it truly been almost a year since he walked in these walls? It felt longer yet shorter at the same time. His time outside the castle was eventful, to say the least, with one crisis after another. Still, he was glad to see that the student body seemed unharmed, especially after the unfortunate situation with Lily Evans and Voldemort. A few grieved family members perished, of course, but the Evans woman wiped out a lot of families, and with them, a lot of dangerous knowledge. He saw no reason to interfere with her foolish quest and was glad that Gellert ended up killing her, even if she had wounded his old friend during the fight.
Albus walked to the professors' table, which had been enlarged to fit the coming ICW representatives. He also noticed an additional extra table, probably meant to hold the foreign schools' delegations. It wasn't how he would have done it. He would have probably made each school sit in one of Hogwarts' houses to make the students interact with one another.
He sat down, ignoring his former colleagues' obvious discomfort at his presence and surveyed the room, as he had done thousands of times before. He found himself staring as his eyes peered at the student of House Slytherin, specifically when his eyes met Harry Potter's own.
Never in a thousand years would Albus have imagined that a single child—one left to rot in the Muggle world—would rise so high, let alone unravel so many of his carefully laid plans. Looking back, it was completely ridiculous, what the boy achieved and Albus couldn't help but think that it was the very hand of Fate rebelling against what they were doing, fighting against their efforts to save humanity from Ragnarök, or perhaps rebelling for the prophecies that they destroyed so long ago.
The boy was always in the right place, at the worst possible time, with the exact ridiculous idea to upend everything. It was too precise to be chance. Albus could only see him as Fate's hand, moving against them. According to Gellert, the boy was the best candidate for Ragnarök's hero, so, it made sense that he survived all of their efforts despite the odds being very heavy against him. Fate had shaped Harry Potter to fight them—there was no denying that now. And yet, despite the boy having no choice, Albus loathed him all the same.
He had defeated Albus in battle with a stroke of luck that no one should have pulled off, he had figured out a way to win the allegiance of the Elder Wand, Albus' most prized possession, injuring him in the meantime, and escaped with a new army ready to serve him. Albus' hand twitched at the reminder of his injury. He hadn't even been this wounded in the fight with Gellert, which made this all the more ridiculous.
Two champions were wounded severely in two different events where the same boy was involved. Yes, that had Fate's meddling all over it.
And to make it worse, according to Gellert, he had found a way to attack the Light and Dark, and forged a weapon that could have killed their patrons, destroying their legacy. Even when he disagreed with the Light sometimes, Albus couldn't imagine a world without its reassuring presence, and for the first time, the Light had been afraid.
The boy had to die. But with Fate shielding him, a direct strike was suicide. The final task would be the moment—when Fate's grip weakened with a prophecy's death.
Speaking of the prophecy, he was still going to need to deal with Voldemort dying. This meant that he would need to find a prophecy that he could reliably break. He hadn't really considered backups, so certain that Voldemort's Horcruxes would sustain him, that he would survive what was coming, that killing the Longbottom boy was surely an easy way to destroy a prophecy, as Riddle would still be alive.
Of course, now he was paying for that oversight, and he had to find another prophecy to power their last ritual. He knew of one prophecy that he could break, even if he wanted to leave it as a last resort. It was his backup, his hidden Ace in the inevitable fight against Gellert once more.
But no, he would look for others first. He'd do some research, and try to unearth some other prophecy with enough power for their ritual.
Albus' train of thought was interrupted as Minerva stood and began to address the students. "Dear students, as most of you know, today marks the arrival of delegations from other European schools for the upcoming tournament, which will take place near the end of the term. While the majority of the official announcements regarding the task will be made once our guests arrive, the ICW wished to speak with you beforehand."
She gestured towards the representatives and Albus himself, prompting him to rise and address the hall.
"I must say, I have dearly missed walking these halls, and it brings me great joy to speak with you all once more. Some of you may recognize me as your former headmaster, others, perhaps not. For those unfamiliar, my name is Albus Dumbledore, and today, I do not stand before you as an educator, but as a representative tasked with ensuring that this tournament proceeds without danger.
"In the previous task, this school lost a brilliant student—an incident the ICW is still investigating. Cedric Diggory was not just a gifted wizard in the making; to those who truly knew him, he was a beacon of kindness. His life was cut tragically short, and the world is lesser for it. So let us raise our glasses to honour the wizard he could have been, for his future was stolen far too soon. To Cedric Diggory."
A solemn hush fell over the hall as students lifted their goblets and echoed in unison, "To Cedric."
Satisfied, Albus continued, "From this tragedy, we have identified critical flaws in the tournament's safety measures—flaws that must be rectified. Such a loss must never happen again, and this tournament will not proceed until we can ensure the safety of everyone in the castle. With the recent unrest in Magical Britain, the ICW, with the approval of the Ministry of Magic, has wisely implemented new protections, and I am here to oversee their enforcement. The task will be rigorously tested, every spell meticulously examined, and no contestant will enter the arena without the certainty that they will leave it alive. Every inch of Hogwarts will be searched for dangers, for the possibility of a crisis as it occurred in Greece."
His piercing eyes swept across the room, pausing briefly on the Hogwarts champions. "Courage and ambition should never come at the cost of a life. That is why we are here—to honour Cedric's memory by ensuring that his fate is never repeated. The tournament will continue, but this time, with the vigilance it should have had from the start."
The room remained silent for a moment before murmurs spread through the student body. Albus let them process his words, then gave Minerva a small nod before taking his seat once more. He ignored her look of both anger and panic. She understood what he meant with this little speech. He could see a handful of students did as well, given the way they were glaring at him. The Ministry and the ICW have given him leave to essentially do what he wanted in the castle without any protest, as long as there wouldn't be any other crisis like what happened to Mount Olympus.
Unfortunately for them, what was coming was far more terrible than that, for the End of Days was near, and Albus was the only chance they had at surviving—thriving under the guidance of the forgiving Light, illuminating their lives.
The only question was which prophecy to break. If none could be found… then he would pull the sword from the stone. It was his last resort, his weapon against Gellert in their eventual fight.
His fingers curled slightly against the table, lost in thought as the Great Hall buzzed with uncertainty. He had time, but not much. The pieces were in motion, and the board was set. There was no time for hesitating. He had one final move before the End began, and he intended to play it well. He would not hesitate, not after what he sacrificed, not after what he lost.
For the Light would shine eternal, no matter the cost.
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If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.