The world did not shake at the fall of Voldemort. There were no grand celebrations, no extravagant headlines, no mass hysteria.
The wizarding world, already swept up in preparing for whatever Dante had set into motion, barely had time to react. The Daily Prophet ran a short article—"Dark Lord Seeks The Ancient Wizard, Dies as a Result." The details of the encounter were glossed over, leaving most readers baffled at the sheer stupidity of the Dark Lord's final decision.
"Did he really have nothing else to do?"
"Why seek him of all people?"
"For someone who terrorized the world, this was a remarkably dumb way to go."
And just like that, Voldemort faded into irrelevance.
___________
At Hogwarts, Nagini remained under the careful watch of Dumbledore.
He felt a deep regret for her, a sorrow that stretched beyond words. Though his years were many, he had rarely seen a curse as cruel as the one that bound her. And so, he did what little he could—offering kindness, patience, and a quiet place in the castle.
With Voldemort gone, life at Hogwarts returned to its usual rhythm. The students carried on as they always had—bickering over Quidditch, cramming for exams, sneaking out past curfew. The war that once loomed over them had ended not with fire and blood, but with a quiet whimper.
Time moved forward.
___________
In the grand halls of Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix arrived unannounced. Her movements were slower now, less erratic, the wildness in her eyes dimmed. She stood before Narcissa, expression uncharacteristically subdued.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "For everything."
Narcissa, ever elegant, merely observed her sister for a long moment. Then, in a rare moment of tenderness, she stepped forward and embraced Bellatrix. The madwoman trembled in her arms.
Dante's revelations, the fall of Voldemort, all of it had shattered the foundation of her beliefs. She had built her life upon the worship of a man, who was not anything great, who had never truly cared for her, upon a cause that had meant nothing. And now, standing before her sister, stripped of her purpose, she felt empty.
Narcissa, however, did not let go. Instead, she reached beyond their fractured past and extended her hand not only to Bellatrix, but to Andromeda as well. The reunion was tense, illegal and awkward at times, but it happened.
Andromeda was skeptical at first. The wounds of the past did not heal so easily. But when Narcissa admitted—"I was an idiot. You were right."—there was nothing left to fight against.
For the first time in decades, the three Black sisters were together again.
And Dora, meeting her notorious aunts for the first time, found them oddly tolerable—once you removed the insanity and overwhelming pride.
Time moved forward.
___________
Three years passed in the blink of an eye. The promised day was near.
Summer had settled over the Malfoy estate, stretching the days long and warm. It was a week before the new Hogwarts term when Dante sought out his younger brother.
Draco, now standing taller, stronger, more confident than before, looked up as Dante approached.
Dante held out his wand.
"This," he said, "is the best wand in the world today. I hope it will help you with whatever comes in the future."
Draco stared at it, his fingers brushing over the polished wood before he clutched it tightly. His breath was shaky as he stepped forward and without hesitation wrapped his arms around Dante.
"Thank you," Draco whispered. "Thank you for everything."
Dante smiled, resting a hand on the back of his brother's head. "You were a great younger brother."
Draco stepped back, his eyes wet but determined.
"When are you going to do it?" he asked.
Dante exhaled, gazing out over the estate. "I want to visit a few places first. And Hogwarts... one last time. I think I'll watch this year's Sorting Ceremony."
Draco nodded. Then, Dante turned.
His mother and father stood there, waiting. Narcissa's eyes were red, yet she held herself with the grace befitting a Malfoy.
"Can't you postpone it?" she whispered.
Dante met her gaze, sadness flickering in his silver eyes. "I have lived far too long already. I'm sorry for the grief I've caused you. I wanted to be a good son but failed to play the part."
Narcissa shook her head. "You were a perfect son, I would never trade you for anyone."
Lucius, standing beside her, smiled faintly. "You are the best ancient ancestor of a son a person could have," he said, his voice lighter than usual. "And... I am sorry for all the times I misunderstood you."
Dante chuckled. "I admit, I was quite curious about what you were thinking over the years. Your reactions were getting more dramatic by the day."
Lucius smirked. "In my defense, you glossed over the important details."
Dante took a slow breath.
"It's time."
He stepped back, his silver eyes taking in the sight of his family one last time.
"Goodbye," he said softly. "Live well."
And then he disapparated.
For the last time, he left Malfoy Manor.
___________
The island of Azkaban was eerily silent. Dante walked alone, the wind howling against the prison walls. The sea roared in the distance, its waves crashing violently against the jagged rocks.
He walked past the old buildings that once released the cries of the anguished prisoners. They were nothing but remnants of a broken system.
His destination lay beyond the prison.
At the very heart of the island, hidden from sight, was an ancient grove of trees—twisted, gnarled things that had stood long before the first stone of Azkaban had been laid. And beyond them, massive rocks lay scattered in a formation that only he understood.
With a single wave of his hand, the rocks trembled. They shifted, revealing a hidden entrance beneath, an entrance to a cold hall. Colder than the wind. Colder than the sea.
It was the closest place in the world to the Veil separating living from the dead.
Hundreds of Dementors floated in the vast chamber, their hollow features locked onto him. The chill in the air was suffocating, an unnatural stillness that could drive most men to madness. But Dante did not flinch.
He gazed upon them, feeling the weight of time in their presence.
"I am sorry that I failed you all," he said softly. His voice echoed through the frozen chamber. "I couldn't bring you truly back to the world of the living. And now..." He lowered his gaze. "I can only ask you to help me even more."
A guttural sound filled the air, deep and sorrowful. The Dementors shook their heads.
Then, one of them drifted closer. It raised a skeletal hand, gesturing toward the others before releasing a long, hollow wail.
Dante smiled and said "Thank you all."
A moment later, he was gone.
___________
He reappeared within the Forbidden Forest.
The centaurs gathered swiftly at his arrival, their bows lowered, their eyes filled with understanding. Unlike the wizards of the world, they did not fear him. They did not see him as an enigma, nor did they seek to worship him. To them, Dante was simply a friend.
Magorian, their leader, stepped forward. Dante gave a small smile before speaking. "I won't be able to repay you for all the help you've given me."
Magorian shook his head. "You gave us far more than we ever gave you, Dante. Our kind exists because of you. Our history was preserved because of you. The world respects us more than ever because of you. We owe you far more than we can ever repay."
The centaurs behind him let out a deep, collective sound of approval.
Magorian took a step closer, his voice firm. "We will never forget our eternal friend, the greatest friend of our kind."
Dante's smile softened. He nodded once, then bid them farewell.
___________
In the mountains of Greece, an old cave stood, long forgotten by time.
The air smelled of dust and decay. The rusted chains clung to the walls, their metal long corroded. The remnants of a life once lived lay collapsed upon the ground—shattered stone, broken furniture, the echoes of voices long since faded.
Dante stood at the entrance, unmoving. Circe had been a great student. His best partner.
For a moment, he could almost hear her laughter, her voice as she debated with him late into the night, her presence as she pushed the boundaries of magic alongside him.
But the past was the past.
___________
The sands of Egypt stretched endlessly before him.
Dante walked through them, his steps light, his eyes tracing the land he had once called home. The pyramids stood in the distance, a testament to a civilization that had long since risen and fallen.
He had lived here once. As Herpo.
The river of time had been merciless, shaping the land, shaping history, shaping him. He no longer recognized the person he had been. That man had long since died in the ever shifting river of time.
___________
For a week, Dante moved through the world, retracing his steps across history.
Each place held a story. A memory. A fragment of a life lived too long.
No one else in the world had seen what he had seen.
No one else carried the weight of time as he did.