The return journey from the Gaunt shack was a silent, somber affair. The three of them Apparated back directly to the Headmaster's office, the weight of the night's events a tangible presence between them. Snape, his face scrubbed clean of its usual sneer and replaced with a quiet, hollowed-out exhaustion, gave a single, curt nod to Dumbledore and Ariana before sweeping from the room without a word. He had a lifetime of grief to process.
Dumbledore, looking weary but more at peace than Ariana had ever seen him, sank into his chair. Fawkes let out a low, crooning note, a soft melody of comfort and renewal.
"What you have done tonight, Ariana," Dumbledore said, his voice full of a quiet wonder, "goes far beyond the destruction of a Horcrux. You have healed wounds I thought were mortal. You have given two old men a peace they did not deserve."
"You deserved peace, Professor," Ariana replied gently. "And Professor Snape's loyalty is now absolute. He will protect Harry not out of guilt, but out of love for his mother. It was a strategically necessary outcome."
Dumbledore chuckled, a soft, weak sound. "Even in a moment of profound spiritual catharsis, you see the strategic advantage. You are truly remarkable." He sighed, his gaze falling upon the Elder Wand, which lay on his desk where Ariana had placed it. Then he looked at the ring, which she still held.
"An interesting and unforeseen consequence of tonight's events has arisen," he said, his expression becoming serious. "A matter of ownership."
He gestured to the powerful wand on his desk. "You defeated me. You disarmed me, cleanly and without malice. By the ancient laws of magic that govern such things, the allegiance of the Elder Wand has now passed to you. It will no longer recognize me as its true master."
Ariana looked at the gnarled, powerful wand. She could feel it, a subtle shift in the room's magical currents. The wand was aware of her. It recognized her strength, her victory. It was… waiting for her.
"And the ring," Dumbledore continued, his gaze moving to the object in her hand, "contains the Resurrection Stone. You took it from its hiding place. You cleansed it of its curse. You are its current keeper."
He looked at her, his blue eyes holding a look of immense gravity. "Unintentionally, in a single night, you have become the master of two of the three Deathly Hallows."
Ariana's face remained impassive, but she processed the information with a quiet, internal intensity. The Wand of Destiny. The Stone of Revival. Combined with the Invisibility Cloak that was currently in Harry's possession, the three legendary artifacts were, for the first time in centuries, aligned with a single, unified purpose of protecting Harry.
"I am aware," she said simply.
"The wand is yours by right of conquest," Dumbledore said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "I cannot wield it to its full potential any longer."
Ariana looked at the Elder Wand, then at her own custom-made wand, which she drew from its holster. Her wand felt like a part of her, an extension of her own will, attuned to the unique, elemental nature of her magic. The Elder Wand was a weapon of immense, almost brutal power, a tool for conquest and domination. It was a fascinating artifact, but it was not her.
"Professor," she said, her decision made with swift, logical certainty. "The Elder Wand's allegiance may have shifted to me, but its purpose has not. It is the 'Dumbledore Wand' in the eyes of the world. It is the symbol of your power, a key component of the defense you represent against Voldemort. For you to suddenly be seen without it would create instability and raise dangerous questions. My ownership of it is a secret that must be kept, just like the Horcruxes."
She pushed the Elder Wand gently back across the desk towards him. "I do not need it. My own wand is sufficient for my purposes. You must continue to carry it. It will still function for you, even if it does not give you its absolute, final loyalty. Its symbolic power is, at this moment, more important than its practical allegiance to me. Consider its ownership a strategic loan."
Dumbledore looked at her, moved by her wisdom and her lack of ambition. Any other wizard would have seized the legendary wand without a second thought. She saw it merely as a tool whose current placement was suboptimal. The wand recognizing Ariana's intent immediately established a nascent bond with Albus once again.
"And the ring?" he asked.
Ariana looked down at the Resurrection Stone in her palm. It was a tool for communion with the dead, a balm for grief. But it was also a source of obsession, a dangerous lure for those who could not let go of the past. Its work, for now, was done. It had healed the two men who needed it most. To use it further would be to invite peril.
"I will keep the stone for now," she said. "It is too dangerous to be left unsecured, and too tempting to be held by anyone still wrestling with great loss. I have… a particular aptitude for emotional detachment that makes me a suitable guardian." She slipped it into a shielded pouch. "When the time is right, when its use is no longer required and its existence becomes a liability… I will dispose of it. In a permanent and untraceable manner."
Drove it into the depths of the ocean, perhaps. Or transfigured it into a single, unremarkable grain of sand and released it to the wind. The method was irrelevant. The decision was made.
Dumbledore nodded, a profound sense of trust settling over him. He was speaking not to a child, but to a peer, a partner in this great, terrible war. She was not just helping him; she was, in many ways, directing the very strategy of their conflict.
"You carry heavy burdens, Ariana," he said softly.
"Burdens are merely complex variables requiring management," she replied, her voice devoid of any self-pity. "And our primary objective remains unchanged."
She stood to leave, her own part in the night's work concluded. She had neutralized a Horcrux, healed two broken souls, and quietly become the master of the most powerful objects in the wizarding world. And no one but the old man sitting before her would ever know. It was, she thought, the most logical and efficient victory she could have hoped for.