The silence in the Great Hall was almost sacred now — heavy, still, reverent in its own terrible way. The air still shimmered faintly with the aftermath of our duel, like the world itself hadn't yet recovered from the magnitude of the magic we unleashed.
My body felt as though it were made of lead, every breath shallow, every step agony. Yet as I looked down at the wand beside Dumbledore's limp hand, all that pain faded into the background.
The Elder Wand.
The wand that had once bested Grindelwald. The wand that refused to lose — even when its master fell.
I reached down and picked it up slowly, feeling the surge of raw, ancient power thrumming through the wood. My fingers tightened around the smooth shaft, and a shiver went through me. It recognized me. It chose me.
I smiled faintly and whispered, "Mine now."
Sliding the Elder Wand into my pocket, I turned away from Dumbledore's body without another glance. There was still one last thing to claim.
I made my way through the shattered halls of Hogwarts — through smoke and ruin, past unconscious defenders and broken wards — until I reached the Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady's portrait hung askew, her painted face pale with terror. She didn't dare speak as I passed.
The dormitory was untouched — quiet, peaceful, almost unnervingly so. On one of the beds, under layers of protective enchantments, lay a folded silvery cloak. The Potter invisibility cloak.
"The final piece," I murmured, brushing my fingers across the fabric. It shimmered under my touch like liquid moonlight.
I draped it across my arm, feeling its subtle hum of old, powerful magic — the same lineage as the wand in my pocket. And then, with a faint smile, I reached into my robes and felt the weight of the Resurrection Stone resting safely within my possession.
The Wand.The Cloak.The Stone.
The Deathly Hallows — united once again.
For a moment, I simply stood there, the weight of it all sinking in. The tales, the myths, the endless chase of power and death itself — they all ended here, with me.
"I am the master now," I whispered, a smirk curling at my lips. "The true Master of Death."
Without wasting another second, I turned on my heel and vanished with a sharp crack of Apparition.
When I reappeared, I stood once more within the Ministry of Magic. My steps echoed through the grand atrium — the sound of a conqueror returning home. The air was thick with whispers and fear; news of Dumbledore's death had already begun to spread like wildfire.
I walked past trembling Aurors, past silent clerks who dared not meet my eyes. No one moved to stop me. No one dared.
By the time I reached the Minister's office, I could already feel the ripple of my influence spreading through every corner of magical Britain. Hogwarts' wards now bent to my will. The Ministry was mine. Diagon Alley had already fallen under my control.
England — the entire magical world of it — was now under my banner.
I stood by the window, gazing out across London as the sun began to rise. A new dawn for wizardkind. My dawn.
"Dumbledore's gone," I said quietly to my reflection in the glass. "And now, there's no one left who can stop me."
My smile returned — calm, certain, victorious.
"The old world dies with him," I whispered. "And the new one… begins with me."