The topic of Arthur’s parents’ attack had poisoned the air between them.
Aurora knew how deeply that tragedy had affected Arthur. She understood why justice mattered to him so desperately. But she was helpless—every ti she’d tried investigating the case, warnings ca from above.
Watch your step. Drop it. Forget about it. Then closer surveillance would follow until she complied.
Director Morrison recognized Arthur was in the right. But people very high up were involved—untouchable people with connections she couldn’t fight.
Maybe after tonight, Morrison thought, studying the devastation around them. Maybe showing them what one angry wizard can do will change their minds about leaving old murders unsolved.
Maybe.
The tension had beco suffocating when salvation arrived in a brilliant flash accompanied by a hauntingly beautiful song.
Dumbledore materialized via Fawkes Express.
The ancient wizard’s gaze swept the battlefield, clearly expecting to find spells still flying. Instead, he found Aurors processing corpses and a distinctly awkward silence.
"Ah," he said mildly. "I appear to be fashionably late."
He turned toward Kingsley to get a full briefing while everyone else watched.
anwhile, Fawkes surprised everyone by flying directly toward Arthur, landing gracefully on his outstretched arm.
"Hello, Fawkes," Arthur said warmly, his deanor shifting completely. "It’s good to see you again."
He waved his hands casually, and plump, juicy grapes appeared in his palms. Arthur fed them to Fawkes, who ate them happily and trilled beautiful songs of appreciation.
Alia stared in bewildernt. "How did you transfigure food? Gamp’s Law says it’s not possible."
"Who said I used magic?" Arthur continued feeding Fawkes more grapes, his expression innocent.
Alia turned to Aurora with exasperation. "Is he always this irritating?"
"Always," Aurora confird with the weary tone of long experience.
Soon Dumbledore finished his briefing with Kingsley and approached their group.
"It’s good to see you again, Mr. Hayes." Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with familiar warmth. "I never knew you had such a good relationship with Fawkes."
" neither," Arthur admitted, scratching the phoenix’s neck feathers. "But who can say no to friendship with a phoenix?"
"Yes, indeed." Dumbledore’s expression grew more serious. "I heard you had quite a night, Mr. Hayes. You’ve gotten much stronger since you graduated from Hogwarts. Did you find the places you were looking for?"
Arthur’s answer was deliberately vague. "Yes, I did. And I was able to use the things I learned to play around with the Death Eater army."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Yes, I heard. Though I would have hoped it didn’t cause so many deaths, especially among the young."
"That wasn’t ," Arthur replied coolly. "Ask the MI6—the young ones were killed by their bullets."
Dumbledore was about to respond when Director Morrison interrupted him sharply.
"I have heard about you and your ’second chances,’ Mr. Dumbledore. The reason for so many people dying in the first war with Voldemort." Her voice carried pure contempt. "Don’t try to teach how to do things with your failed thods."
"Violence begets violence," Dumbledore replied calmly. "A cycle that—"
"With all due respect, Dumbledore," Morrison interrupted again, "philosophical discussions can wait. We have more pressing matters."
"Like how dark wizards attacked an MI6 safe house without any fear of the Covenant. I will be taking this up with the ICW."
Dumbledore looked remarkably calm about this threat. Arthur suspected either Dumbledore had significant influence within the International Confederation of Wizards, or the other wizards simply didn’t care much about threats from Muggle governnts.
He felt the latter was more plausible.
"I am not the person to talk to about matters like this," Dumbledore said smoothly. "I’m sure Alia can discuss this with you."
Morrison and Alia moved away, seeking privacy for what would undoubtedly be heated negotiations. Aurora followed them.
Now only Dumbledore, Arthur, and Fawkes remained.
"Has your magic returned?" Dumbledore asked gently.
Arthur lit his fingertip with a wordless Lumos, the light unnecessarily bright. "Few months ago. Still getting reacquainted."
"Wonderful news!" Dumbledore’s genuine pleasure was evident.
Arthur’s expression grew more pointed. "So, Headmaster, have you changed anything at Hogwarts after our last conversation?"
Dumbledore’s shoulders sagged slightly. "Unfortunately not, Mr. Hayes. While your suggestions had rit and I wanted to bring in so changes, I was unable to go ahead. Control over Hogwarts was wrenched away from by the Minister of Magic and his Undersecretary."
Arthur raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You let them do that, is that right? With your influence, you could have easily gotten Fudge ousted. Or were your years of being the ’Leader of Light’ just for show?"
"Mr. Hayes, I am not as manipulative and powerful as you think I am," Dumbledore replied with what sounded like genuine humility. "Just an old wizard who is past his pri."
"No, you are powerful." Arthur’s voice carried conviction. "I saw your battle with Voldemort at the Ministry. It was magnificent. Taught a lot."
Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened with sudden interest. "You were there? Is that why Mr. Black’s will has not activated?"
"Yes." Arthur’s tone grew cold. "Soone asked for my help, and I saved a poor man’s life. He went through a lot because the people he thought highly of did nothing to get him a trial."
"Where is Mr. Black now?"
Arthur shrugged with deliberate casualness. "I just saved him, gave him a few ideas, and haven’t seen him since."
"Don’t worry—I already told him that you won’t allow him to take Harry away from his relatives."
"Again, I am not evil," Dumbledore protested gently. "His current ho gives him the best protection from Voldemort. Also, young Mr. Potter has a prophecy to fulfill, and he must be prepared to go through so difficulties."
Arthur’s voice turned flat. "Don’t care. I just feel it’s wrong, so I said it. Anyway, I don’t believe in prophecies and wouldn’t allow them to dictate my life."
"You are a better person than , then."
"No." Arthur’s response was imdiate and firm. "I am not a good person like you. I just follow my own rules and have a moral bottom line."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Good. So what are your plans? Returning to the wizarding world? We could use you, especially now."
"No." Arthur’s rejection was absolute. "I intervened just to save a few lives. The wizarding world doesn’t need any more heroes. It must learn to take care of its own troubles without putting their hopes on one person—be it Dumbledore or Potter."
Dumbledore’s smile was sad but genuine. "That would really be a bright future. But I fear it’s not in our nature. It was good talking to you, Mr. Hayes."
He turned toward Fawkes. "Co, old friend. We have work to do."
Fawkes trilled in complaint but still flew from Arthur’s arms toward Dumbledore, preparing to flash away.
"Goodbye, Headmaster." Arthur’s farewell carried unexpected warmth. "Say hello to the Sorting Hat for . And I hope this is not the last ti I see you."
"Will do. Also, this won’t be our last eting. I have a lot of years left in these old bones," Dumbledore replied with his characteristic twinkle. "We will see each other again, Mr. Hayes."
With a flash of fla, he disappeared along with Fawkes.
Arthur stood alone in the devastated compound, knowing what Dumbledore was working on.
The old man would be going to the Riddle ho soon, seeking another Horcrux. But Arthur didn’t warn him about the curse protecting it.
The wizarding world needed change—real, fundantal change—and with Dumbledore alive, that would never be possible. It was better for the old man to go on his next great adventure.
Besides, Dumbledore had lived a wonderful and fulfilled life.
Arthur opened a portal back to Kamar-Taj.
—-
Miles away, in a hidden manor house protected by layers of dark enchantnts, Lord Voldemort paced before a roaring fire. His pale, snake-like features were contorted with rage, red eyes gleaming with murderous intent.
Around him, his surviving followers knelt in fearful silence, none daring to speak first after their humiliating retreat.
"Explain," Voldemort finally hissed, his voice dangerously soft, "how so many Death Eaters—and I myself—were driven back by a single wizard using magic none of you recognize."
No one answered imdiately.
Then Thaddeus Nott raised his head slightly. "My Lord, the mudblood used techniques unknown to us. We were unprepared, Next ti-"
"Next ti?" Voldemort’s laugh was high and cold. "There will indeed be a next ti, but not before we understand precisely what we face."
He turned, seeking Rookwood among the kneeling figures. The Unspeakable might have explanations for such unusual magic.
Then mory struck. Rookwood was rotting in Azkaban.
"We build our strength first," Voldemort decided aloud. "Free our imprisoned allies. Then seek answers."
The room fell silent again.
Then, impossibly, Bellatrix spoke.
"My Lord..." Her voice trembled—not with her usual fanatical devotion, but sothing else. Sothing that sounded dangerously like doubt. "How could he be stronger? You are the most powerful wizard alive. You’ve conquered death itself. But he..."
She swallowed hard, and every Death Eater held their breath.
"He played with us. Like we were first-years with training wands. He could have killed us all, but chose not to. Even you couldn’t... couldn’t..."
The words died as Voldemort turned his scarlet gaze on her. Bellatrix, who’d never shown fear in Azkaban, who laughed at Crucio, actually flinched.
"Are you questioning , Bella?"
"No!" But the denial ca too quick, too desperate. "I just... I don’t understand. You’ve always been strongest. Always. But tonight..."
"ENOUGH!"
The word cracked like a whip. Magic pulsed from Voldemort in waves, and several Death Eaters whimpered.
"Leave . All of you." His voice had gone soft again, which was worse. "Except Severus."
They fled like scattered roaches, Bellatrix casting one last confused glance at her master. For the first ti in her life, the Dark Lord had seed... diminished.
"You taught at Hogwarts when this... Hayes... was a student," Voldemort said once they were alone. "Tell about him."
Snape considered his words carefully. "He was... exceptional. A Muggle-born sorted into Slytherin, which imdiately made him an outcast. He responded first by muggle ans and then with magic when he learned them. He was a quick learner."
"A Muggle-born," Voldemort repeated, disgust evident in his tone. "Yet he commands magic beyond anything in our tradition."
"He was always secretive," Snape continued. "Solitary. Lost his magic near the end of the year for so reason. Left imdiately after."
"Yet tonight he wielded power beyond anything I’ve seen." Voldemort’s fingers drumd against stone. "What is he?"
"Unknown. His magic tonight bore no resemblance to what he used at Hogwarts."
"Could Dumbledore have trained him?"
Snape’s lips curled slightly. "I doubt it. Hayes and the Headmaster maintained a relationship best described as mutual distrust."
Voldemort absorbed this, his long fingers tapping thoughtfully against the mantelpiece. "You believe he could be recruited to our cause?"
"No," Snape replied without hesitation. "Hayes despises blood supremacist ideology and makes no secret of it. But he’s equally contemptuous of Dumbledore’s thods."
"A third player on the board, then." Voldemort’s expression darkened. "One with unknown capabilities and unclear motives. This complicates matters."
"If I may, my Lord," Snape ventured, "Hayes has consistently shown interest only in his personal advancent. If he intervened today, it was likely due to so specific connection to those present, not out of broader political concern."
"Perhaps." Voldemort’s expression remained troubled. "But power like that doesn’t simply appear. He learned it sowhere. From soone."
"Shall I investigate?"
"Carefully. Very carefully." Voldemort turned from the fire. "And Severus? Not a word to Dumbledore about my... concern. The old fool doesn’t need to know that Hayes rattled ."
"Of course not, my Lord."
But as Snape departed, he filed away the image of Bellatrix Lestrange—the Dark Lord’s most devoted follower—questioning her master’s power.
The foundations of faith, once cracked, never quite heal the sa way.
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