Since the battle in the Department of Mysteries ended, Edith had been like a body without a soul.
She showed no reaction to anything Harry or Hermione said, just continuing to stare blankly, her gaze unfocused.
She couldn't even muster the will to attend the end-of-year party, and Dumbledore ordered everyone to leave her alone for now.
With unsteady steps she returned to her dormitory room and sat down.
She wanted to think it was all a dream.
Yes, this was a bad dream.
When she woke up, Mirabel would be at school again, 'she' would smile beside her...
As if nothing had happened, peaceful days would continue.
Yes... surely that was it...
Look, just a bit longer and she'd wake up.
She was still sleeping in bed, and she'd wake up just before being late...
"...Ah."
Near the bed was a gift box.
From Mirabel—no, a present given by the double 'she.'
A gift from a friend that could only be opened at year's end.
Edith slowly lifted it and held it close.
...The protective charm had disappeared.
She could open it now.
Slowly, carefully so as not to damage the box, she opened it.
Normally she'd handle wrapping boxes carelessly and throw them away.
But now, even such a box was an irreplaceable precious treasure.
Inside was an adorable Niffler plushie, apparently handmade.
And one letter.
As if urged, yet carefully, Edith opened the letter.
A slight expectation existed there.
Yes, she'd specifically prepared this to be seen at year's end.
Then didn't that mean she'd foreseen this situation?
If so... perhaps...
Perhaps... she was alive, just pretending to be dead?
Yes, that must be it.
She'd surely coordinated with Mirabel and planned this from the start.
And this letter must contain that information.
...Normal Edith would have known that was impossible. Convenient delusion she'd immediately recognize.
No, she wouldn't even have such delusions.
But now, she wasn't normal.
Beaten down by suddenly fanged reality, frantic, utterly confused.
With trembling hands she opened the letter.
And what was written there—wasn't what she hoped for.
『To Edith.
Now reading this letter, what do you think of me?
Are you sad, or angry... knowing that terrifies me.
You probably already know, but I deceived you all along.
My real name is Mary Orwell. Just a servant attending Lady Mirabel.
While that person operated abroad, I attended school as a double to deceive Dumbledore and Voldemort.
The me you knew was only that person's imitation, everything false.
Yet I came to truly think of you as a real friend.
Will you laugh? Or get angry?
I know it's selfish.
I used you to play 'Mirabel Beresford.'
But even so, if permitted... I want to start over from the beginning.
Not as that person's double, but as my true self. I want to meet you as Mary Orwell.
When we next meet, I won't be the me you knew.
That frightens me a little.
What if you're still angry—actually, even now writing this letter, I keep thinking only about that.
But even so, I—』
...She couldn't read further.
Tears distorted her vision—she couldn't tell what was written anymore.
Written in the letter was one girl's true heart yearning for the future.
If they could meet again, she wanted to properly apologize.
If they could be friends again, she wanted genuine interaction this time.
She wanted to go to Hogsmeade together again.
Such—the lost 'future's' outlook was written there.
Edith now desperately wanted that too.
She wanted to meet her again.
Meet the real her and properly talk.
Become friends with the real her again.
But it was impossible. That wish would never be granted again.
She was gone now.
She could no longer laugh with her, joke with her.
That future was forever lost.
"...Ugh... uhhh..."
Tears fell onto the letter.
A year's memories revived, joyful days vividly racing through her mind.
Her smiling mischievously.
Her smiling gently.
Her laughing happily.
But those days would never return.
"Uh, ah... ahh... aaaahhhh...!!"
Clutching the letter, the girl collapsed in tears.
***
To Mirabel, Mary was the only close person who knew her past.
Inflexible, stubborn, and an awkward opponent who spoke bluntly without fearing her.
She'd thought her annoying many times, even considered throwing her into the Floo Network.
But once such annoyance disappeared, strange emptiness remained.
Perhaps she'd taken her presence for granted.
"...Mary... is that the answer you reached?"
Mirabel looked down at the corpse in her own form lying below.
Her loyal subject Mary's corpse, who'd magnificently fulfilled the command to deceive Dumbledore's eyes for an entire year.
She'd thought death was nothing.
She'd optimistically thought she could resurrect her anytime.
But Mary wouldn't return.
Her soul had already gone 'over there,' in a state where resurrection was impossible.
Mary should have been able to remain in this world.
Whether the dead went 'over there' or became ghosts was their choice.
So if she died, she could have waited as a ghost until Mirabel resurrected her.
But Mary didn't do that.
Probably... for friendship with Edith.
Unable to betray her master Mirabel.
Yet unable to choose opposing Edith either.
What Mary ultimately chose was simply dying.
Thinking thus, this situation made sense.
"Fool... if you'd die anyway, you should have sided with Reinagel and opposed me."
Unintentionally muttering thus, Mirabel was slightly surprised at her own statement.
Then she smiled wryly.
Realizing she regretted Mary's absence more than expected.
"Inflexible to the very end."
This body had no soul.
A false body she'd created to begin with.
But... at the least, proper burial wouldn't be bad.
Only now did she realize she'd valued the servant called Mary that much.
"...You served me well until now, Mary Orwell. Well done... rest peacefully."
Using the Philosopher's Stone's power, she transformed the corpse in her own form back to her original appearance.
And lifting her for burial... only then did she finally notice.
—Ah, I see...
—Come to think of it, she was the only one I called by name even after Lettice died...
***
'You-Know-Who Has Returned.'
This news announced by the Ministry instantly shocked all of Britain's magical world.
After this announcement, Harry and Dumbledore were treated as heroes.
Tragic heroes who'd endured harsh slander and continued shouting truth in isolation.
A terrible reversal after treating Dumbledore and Harry as lunatics all along.
But what disappointed Harry and others most was that every newspaper remained imprisoned by Voldemort's terror, not looking toward greater fear.
Mirabel Beresford and Gellert Grindelwald.
An extremely dangerous duo whose purpose wasn't conquering but completely destroying the magical world.
But the Ministry didn't much believe these two's threat that Dumbledore told them about.
Understandably so—with Voldemort alone overwhelming them, they didn't want to believe even greater threats existed.
At least they didn't dismiss it as lies learning from their predecessor's failure, but unfortunately wouldn't remain strongly vigilant.
Mirabel was currently just treated as missing.
Meanwhile the Ministry began ingratiating itself to Harry, proposing to elevate him as a symbol of hope.
But Dumbledore refused everything and even forbade approaching Harry.
The Ministry, perplexed by this firm attitude, declared Sirius Black innocent and lifted his warrant as their next move, but Dumbledore dismissed this as 'expected behavior' and completely ignored it.
This was Dumbledore's love trying not to burden Harry further, but consequently this action created another significant rift between Dumbledore and the Ministry, hindering cooperation.
Rufus Scrimgeour, who became Minister after Cornelius Fudge's death, had a cooperative relationship with Dumbledore on the surface, but couldn't resolve friction left by his predecessor, falling into unstable conditions of mutual wariness.
Also, simultaneously at St. Mungo's Hospital, deaths of Heathcote Beresford and Simon Beresford were confirmed, and youngest brother Sidney Beresford suddenly vanished.
Maevis Beresford, who'd lost beloved husband, daughter, and son simultaneously, collapsed from mental exhaustion and resigned as Durmstrang Institute's Deputy Headmistress. An eerie masked man calling himself Severus apparently succeeded her.
A beautiful golden-haired youth reportedly succeeded to the headmaster position vacated by Igor Karkaroff's disappearance, but details were unclear.
Meanwhile, France's Beauxbatons Academy still had Olympe Maxime as headmistress, but according to her 'unpleasant air envelops all France.'
Therefore she apparently called students to vigilance daily.
Hogwarts, having finished the end-of-year party and sent students home as usual, was wrapped in silence.
But even at such times, staff apparently remained at school.
Dumbledore sat in his office chair, gazing at an object on the desk.
"..."
Terribly tempting.
Though recognizing this as foolish thinking, Dumbledore couldn't look away.
There was one ring.
A wand gripped in the old man's hand—clearly about to magically destroy it.
But he absolutely couldn't swing that wand down.
"...The Resurrection Stone."
There was the 'Resurrection Stone'—one of the Deathly Hallows.
A treasure passed down through the Gaunt family for generations, and now possessing even greater meaning.
—A 'Horcrux.'
Forbidden dark magic approaching immortality by splitting and sealing souls. Exploring Voldemort's immortality secret, Dumbledore had reached it.
If speculation was correct, Voldemort created six Horcruxes and unknowingly made a seventh.
And unless all were destroyed, Voldemort would never die.
One was already shattered—Tom Riddle's diary that appeared three years ago.
And this ring too—he was certain it was Voldemort's Horcrux.
But though Voldemort hadn't noticed, this wasn't just a ring.
No, precisely the stone set in the ring wasn't ordinary.
This was the 'Resurrection Stone'—legendary treasure enabling conversation with the dead.
Dumbledore felt wishes he should have abandoned reigniting within.
Mustn't do it. Mustn't bend reason.
Though understanding this... though having taught students thus, he couldn't restrain himself.
"Can I meet them...? Father... Mother... Ariana... can I meet you and apologize?"
He extended trembling hands.
He'd always regretted youthful mistakes.
Never forgotten sins once committed even one day.
Blue eyes usually filled with intellectual brilliance wavered like fevered, staring at the ring.
This... with just this, he could meet the family he'd lost.
Apologize for that day's mistake.
That was sweeter temptation than anything, unbearable.
—Albus Dumbledore once burned with ambition.
Intoxicated by his own talent, considering it natural to use it to dominate the untalented.
And at that mistake's end, he'd stopped caring about his precious sister, leading to her death.
'Humans have a habit of desiring what's worst for them.'
This was Dumbledore's belief, a lesson he'd told Mirabel and Harry, and words indicating his own past.
No, not just past... it existed right here, right now.
Dumbledore desperately craved the 'Resurrection Stone' before him from his heart.
—See, you still can't resist. No matter what fine words you spout, that's your true nature.
In his head echoed a girl's triumphant voice.
The girl reminding him of his former self, yet a terrifying devil with broken brakes.
Perhaps what he could have become—embodiment of malice.
That elegant voice not resisting desire was naturally an illusion created by Dumbledore's self-reproach.
But to current Dumbledore, it was truly his own voice.
Slowly, as if enchanted, Dumbledore extended his hand.
Three more cm... 2cm... 1cm...
Mustn't touch, his inner calm sage said.
But young Dumbledore screaming to meet family expelled that.
And finally, his finger touched—
"—That's enough, Albus. That's cursed... wear it carelessly and you'll die."
"—!"
At the voice from the entrance, he looked up as if struck.
The figure standing there was unmistakable.
Golden curls and finely chiseled features.
His youthful friend, Gellert Grindelwald.
Though they should be the same age, he appeared exactly as in youth, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.
"Gellert... why are you here...?"
"Foolish question, Albus—who do you think I am? This school's security is like a sieve to me."
"...There should have been statues at the entrance..."
"Ah, those? I randomly listed candy names you'd like and they let me through easily. ...You still love Muggle sweets, I see."
At Grindelwald's laugh, Dumbledore also smiled cheerfully.
Though flustered by the sudden appearance, showing emotion was unwise.
Must remain calm, showing composure while confronting him.
"Indeed. Muggle candies rarely disappoint, unlike magical world ones."
"Ah, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. You hated those. Always drew the bad ones."
"Indeed. And you always took the good ones. That's why I came to hate Every Flavor Beans."
"Ah, such times existed."
Before Grindelwald chuckling mischievously, Dumbledore felt an illusion of returning to the past.
Remembering that day without worries, laughing with friends.
But their paths had diverged.
They'd never converge again—even laughing like this now, that wouldn't change.
"Gellert... why come? Surely not for reminiscing?"
"That wouldn't be bad, but slightly different. I've come to retrieve what I entrusted to you."
He swept back his hair, mouth elegantly curving.
A showy gesture, but when handsome men did it, it looked good—handsomeness paid.
"The Elder Wand... you still have it, don't you?"
As expected, Dumbledore's expression hardened.
The Elder Wand—the magical world's strongest weapon promising certain victory to its wielder.
Actually not guaranteeing victory, just powerfully enough to be so called, but still terrible if falling to evil hands.
"What do you mean? I'm satisfied with my own wand. I possess no others."
"You're a poor liar, Albus."
Once the wand's owner was Grindelwald.
Defeating him, Dumbledore became the new wand's owner.
And such a dangerous wand—Dumbledore wouldn't release it into the world, remaining owner was self-evident.
"I know you have it... hand it over. You're no longer the owner."
"Quite right, Gellert. But neither are you the owner."
"True. But I can deliver it to its owner."
"I'm sure. Which is precisely why I cannot hand it over."
Dumbledore was the Elder Wand's owner only until the recent Department of Mysteries battle.
In that fight, Dumbledore met his first lifetime defeat by Mirabel.
His wand taken, leg slashed—without Grindelwald's arrival, he might have lost completely.
Therefore, Dumbledore could no longer master the Elder Wand.
Because wands had 'loyalty,' always directed toward the strong.
Without obtaining this 'loyalty,' wands couldn't display full power.
"I cannot entrust the Elder Wand to that terrifying girl."
"Then what? Fight me? With that Elder Wand that's lost loyalty?"
Not limited to the Elder Wand, wands chose the strong.
Loyalty wasn't immutable—it transferred by conquest.
Methods included dueling, disarming, or killing—defeating opponents was absolute condition.
Especially the Elder Wand's characteristic was prominent—even if the dueling wand wasn't the Elder Wand, it easily switched to winners.
And unlike normal wands, it completely lost loyalty to previous owners (normal wands retained some loyalty to previous owners).
This characteristic made the Elder Wand perpetual conflict kindling, bringing death's end to all successive owners.
"Fighting here would bring other teachers immediately. The disadvantage is yours, Gellert."
"You think those foot soldiers can stop me?"
"Of course I think so. Teachers here are all excellent."
Grindelwald and Dumbledore faced each other with cool expressions while positioned to draw wands anytime.
Given any trigger, this place would immediately become battlefield.
But that trigger didn't arrive, and Grindelwald sheathed his wand.
"Can't be helped... I'll withdraw here."
"Won't you fight?"
"We must settle things eventually. But here is too cramped for us... we need an appropriate stage."
Grindelwald leaped onto the windowsill, flipping his robes.
"Final warning—never wear that ring. I will defeat you... don't die from some worthless curse."
"I'll take that warning to heart."
Grindelwald nodded as if satisfied by that response and flew from the window.
His coming was completely unexpected, but also factually helpful.
Without that, Dumbledore would have worn the ring and be weakened by curse by now.
In that case, even escaping death, his arm would be useless and lifespan brief.
Considering that, one could take it as calling out at perfect timing.
(...Thinking he came for that... is probably me hoping too much.)
Though enemies, the reunion with his former friend restored slight composure to Dumbledore's heart.
Then gripping his wand, he produced flames from it.
—The cursed flames learned in ambitious youth... Fiendfyre.
The great wizard's name wasn't for show.
Though usually deliberately sealing such dark magic, Dumbledore could use it anytime if he chose.
But considering it wicked mistake, he sealed it himself.
Saying he didn't want to meet family would be a lie. Lingering attachment remained even now.
But that could wait until fulfilling his mission and passing over. Now he'd just fight as a wand protecting young futures.
Thus, Dumbledore quietly steeled his resolve.
***
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