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Sunlight bathed the tranquil village in its warmth.
The little freckled girl had originally been smiling brightly and happily.
However...
"Albus!"
She held up a dirt-covered dandelion and walked toward the young Dumbledore.
"Look what I found!"
She just wanted to share her joy with the boy. But young Dumbledore swatted the dandelion right out of Ariana's hand.
"Stop bothering me."
He even raised his wand threateningly in her direction.
His face darkened, and his lips pressed tightly together. Standing opposite him was his younger sister... Ariana, a girl who could no longer control her magic because of childhood trauma.
She trembled, her eyes full of fear and panic as if she didn't recognize her older brother. Witnessing this scene, the old Dumbledore felt his heart twist in agony.
"No... this isn't me." The elderly Dumbledore murmured to himself.
At the same time... black magical energy began to coil around the shaking little girl, Ariana.
It looked as though it could explode at any moment.
The elderly Dumbledore's heartbeat quickened. He tried to lift his Elder Wand, but he could not penetrate this distant memory with magic. He could only watch helplessly as the dreaded scene unfolded.
"You've lost control again!" Young Dumbledore roared. "Do you know this will destroy us? You monster!"
"I...I didn't mean to..." Ariana whimpered. The magic around her turned unstable. The Obscurus's corruption brought her unbearable pain.
But...
The young Dumbledore showed no hint of mercy.
"Shut up!" He snapped, his wand raised high and his eyes burning with anger and smoke.
Ariana's small hand clutched tightly at Dumbledore's robes, her knuckles turning white and tears filling her eyes.
"Albus...don't..." Her voice was barely more than a mosquito's buzz, yet it cut like a dull knife...
...slowly slicing apart the old Dumbledore's heart.
The young Dumbledore's expression was the complete opposite to his older self. His reddish-brown curls glinted coldly in the sunlight.
That all-too-familiar impatience, the arrogance of a genius annoyed by lesser minds rested on his face.
"Shut up!"
His youthful self barked, his wand now aimed directly at his sister's chest.
"All you ever do is cry!"
His wand began to glow.
"No!"
The elderly Dumbledore raised his Elder Wand, but the spells dispersed like stones sinking into the sea. He watched, powerless, as a blinding red light shot from the younger wand's tip...
...piercing cleanly through Ariana's frail chest.
The girl collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut; the wild flowers she had just picked scattered across the ground.
The sound of Aberforth slamming open the door shattered the moment, startling the little birds nesting nearby.
"Ariana! How could you? She's our younger sister!" Aberforth shouted in disbelief and horror, brandishing his unimpressive-looking wand.
Young Albus didn't even turn around. He merely flicked his wand backward.
"Avada Kedavra!"
He used the Killing Curse, causing a green light to flash, and Aberforth's burly body crashed heavily to the ground. His blue eyes, so identical to Ariana's, froze forever in an expression of shock and fury.
"That's quieter."
Young Albus casually brushed the dust off his robe.
He bent down, picked up the fallen Magical Theory textbook, leaned back against the apple tree, and continued reading as if nothing had happened. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and cast mottled shadows over his face.
It was as though the slaughter had been nothing more than brushing away a fallen leaf.
This scene... was terrifying beyond words.
Yet it felt disturbingly real.
All of it fell into the eyes of the elderly Dumbledore. The boy's words were like daggers, stabbing straight through the old man's heart. He fell to his knees, his chest heaving and his tears threatening to spill.
"What is this place?! Damn it! Where am I?" The elderly Dumbledore dug his fingers deep into his palms as he roared, blood dripping between them onto the faded cobblestones.
His breathing grew harsh.
His blue eyes rippled behind his half-moon glasses.
The world around him began to warp. Ariana's corpse dissolved like grains of sand. The ruins of the house sank into the earth. In their place, the vaulted ceiling of Hogwarts' Great Hall emerged through the mist.
This sight forced the old Dumbledore to calm himself. He physically had to force himself to calm down.
"My soul didn't pass the test," He whispered hoarsely, sounding nothing like himself. "Am I to be drowned in eternal regret? Or..."
He raised his head and looked at the mural forming on the dome, depicting the glorious deeds of the Four Founders.
"Or is this the test itself?"
As he thought this, the old Dumbledore began to feel something influencing his mind.
Clouding his thoughts.
"You won't succeed."
He tried to use magic to defend himself, but even at his Legendary level, he couldn't cast a spell in time.
"I... am..." The old headmaster's eyes grew unfocused.
It was as if some unknown force had invaded his mind completely.
The surroundings distorted.
The sky turned chaotic.
Everything shifted.
Only Dumbledore's suffocating sorrow lingered in the air.
When clarity finally returned, Dumbledore found himself in a spacious, bright office. The walls were covered with medals and photographs. On a golden nameplate were the words: 'Albus Dumbledore, President of the United Wizarding Association.'
He rose to his feet and walked to the window. Outside, the world appeared peaceful and prosperous, Muggles and wizards lived in harmony, and children ran and played in the streets.
Owls and broomsticks soared through the sky. It was the kind of world he had always wished to see.
"Professor, are you ready?" A familiar voice came from outside the door. Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped inside with a solemn look on his face.
"Grindelwald has invaded Eastern Europe. We must take action." He spoke gravely.
"Where is he?" Dumbledore asked calmly yet with a firm look on his face.
"Nurmengard. He has gathered a large number of followers and declared that he will establish a new wizarding order."
Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice carried a hint of concern.
"Take me to him." Dumbledore spoke again.
He could feel a force influencing him...
Blurring the line between reality and illusion. But it no longer mattered. Perhaps this was reality. Dumbledore turned away and left the room, leaving behind memories of Grindelwald that didn't truly belong to him.
...
The scene shifted.
A blizzard swept across the ruins of Nurmengard. Dumbledore walked alone across the land shrouded in darkness. He wore silver-gray robes and held the Elder Wand. His gaze was as sharp as steel.
Grindelwald stood atop a stone tower, his cloak snapping in the wind and madness flickering in his eyes.
"Albus, you finally came," He sneered. "I thought you wouldn't show up to die. The so-called greatest wizard in the world is nothing but a joke to me."
"I did not come to die, but to end your ambitions. Very soon, you will know whether I am great or not." Dumbledore replied slowly.
The two faced each other for a long moment, then raised their wands at the same time.
Sparks of magic collided in the air, illuminating the entire ruin.
Dumbledore finally struck Grindelwald with a perfectly aimed Avada Kedavra, and the man who felt so familiar yet so strangely foreign to his subconscious fell.
"This isn't the end. It is a beginning."
Dumbledore looked down at the defeated Grindelwald and spoke softly.
Mist began to spread.
When it cleared...
Dumbledore found himself standing in a magnificent, gold-adorned hall.
He was old again.
Why "again"?
He had no time to think.
His attention was drawn elsewhere.
Portraits covered the walls; he had never seen them before.
All of them were of him.
In one portrait stood a young Albus Dumbledore in splendid purple-and-gold robes with a First-Class Order of Merlin pinned to his chest. He received a medal from the Minister for Magic.
"Let us thank Mr. Dumbledore once again!" Fudge's voice boomed in his ears, ten times louder than he remembered. "It was his decisive action that stopped Grindelwald's plot!"
Thunderous applause erupted from the audience.
The Dumbledore in the portrait bowed gracefully. His red hair was still bright, and his face was unlined by the passage of time. He was full of spirit, the very picture of brilliance and admiration.
Not a trace of despair showed in his eyes.
"Is this... me?" The elderly Dumbledore felt a rising confusion as he looked at this picture.
Suddenly...
Someone called his name.
He turned.
And the scene changed once again.
The Hogwarts Great Hall was brightly lit. Students cheered and celebrated Dumbledore's induction into the "Century's Greatest Figures" list.
Dumbledore sat in the headmaster's seat, and beside him was a gentle witch named Alison Black. Together, they had raised two children.
One was a magical prodigy.
The other was a Muggle scientist.
"Dad, you're the greatest hero in the world!" His daughter threw her arms around him excitedly.
"I only did what I had to do," Dumbledore replied with a warm smile.
Professor McGonagall approached, holding a cup of Honeydukes' special hot cocoa.
"Albus, are you planning to run for Minister of Magic again?"
"I've already passed the torch to the younger generation." He looked out the window. The setting sun cast its glow on his face, outlining the marks of time. "But I know there are things more important than power."
"Like what?"
"Like family, responsibility, and...love."
…
Perfect.
A life without burdens or regrets that passes by effortlessly.
It was so intoxicatingly beautiful.
When that life ended, even when he closed his eyes, it felt as though he wasn't embarking on a new journey.
It was merely waking up.
The elderly Dumbledore found himself once again standing on that same grassy field.
Ahead of him stood the young Dumbledore.
The boy who had killed his own family.
The boy who studied relentlessly.
The boy who would do anything to achieve his goals and craft a perfect life.
Everything he had just experienced seemed to be the future that would unfold if he chose that path.
"But that is not my future, nor is it the choice I want to make."
His true, long-buried memories flooded back into his mind.
He once again became the Dumbledore who knew pain.
Those hazy, false memories still lingered. Newspaper headlines proclaimed: "Genius Wizard Defeats Dark Lord Single-Handedly."
Photos of him standing tall and confident.
In the Great Hall at Hogwarts, students rose to applaud "the greatest headmaster in history."
On the stage of the International Confederation of Wizards, he waved his Elder Wand as fireworks lit the sky.
Every scene was glorious. Every version of that life was flawless. There was no tragedy at Godric's Hollow, no binding blood pact, and no sleepless nights filled with regret.
"What a magnificent life," A voice whispered sweetly in his ear.
"No weaknesses, no stains, only endless glory."
Dumbledore's mind froze on one of the fabricated images: His white-haired self seated as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surrounded by worshipful eyes.
Under his guidance, wizards and Muggles lived harmoniously.
He had become a true king.
Ruler of all.
The temptation was powerful. At least for most people.
But...
"There are no 'what-ifs' in life." The elderly Dumbledore suddenly spoke in a firm and resonant voice. He raised the Elder Wand, and a dazzling silver light burst from its tip.
"This isn't a test at all... just a crude attempt at manipulation!"
His heart held no desire for such a future, for he knew that this was not the life he wanted.
Such craving, it belonged only to another Dumbledore.
One of the many Dumbledores abandoned by fate...
Wherever the silver light touched, the glorious illusions shattered like glass. Once again, Dumbledore examined those false memories.
From this new perspective, everything looked different. The "glorified" version of himself had empty eyes, and his handshakes during award ceremonies were stiff and mechanical.
They looked utterly false.
Late at night, he would mutter to the blank wall as though someone were standing there, tormented by the ghosts of his mind and sinking deeper into anger and corruption.
Worst of all, the Ministry's most classified archives contained records of a series of suspicious suppression operations. All dissenting voices had mysteriously disappeared.
This was no king.
This was a tyrant.
"A soul disguised beneath a perfect facade is more pitiful than one shattered completely," Dumbledore murmured.
With his words, the entire illusion began to collapse.
The bronze door appeared before him once more.
Inside it coiled countless silver chains, each holding a bottle of fate. Each bottle contained a future that would have unfolded had he chosen differently.
"I know... this is yet another petty trick." Dumbledore remained clearheaded, yet he could not help but lean closer, searching for the fate he hoped existed.
It was this desire that made him sink again.
The surroundings began to shift.
A new scene emerged, born from the part of Dumbledore's heart that still lacked firmness.
He saw another life.
"Here... this book explains how to deal with the Obscurus. I finally found a method that works: Ariana, you can finally live like a normal person."
It was another young Dumbledore but this one looked like a good older brother.
"So, brother, what's the price?" Ariana asked quietly.
"Only the souls of one million people." The young Dumbledore still looked delighted.
"Death itself is merciful!"
There was a hint of fanaticism in his voice.
(End of Chapter)