1st September 1994
Hogwarts Express
"Charming," I muttered under my breath as I stepped out of Dad's Aston Martin Vantage straight into pouring rain at King's Cross. The sky had clearly decided subtlety was overrated.
Hermione, Rachel and I hurried across the busy road and into the station, Mum and Dad close behind us. Teddy raced ahead as if the rain were a personal challenge, while Crookshanks scowled at the weather from the safety of Hermione's arms. Rachel's new pet, a small white Puffskein she'd named Polly, sat securely inside her jacket pocket, only the faintest twitch of movement betraying her presence.
Inside, we made our way to the barrier between Platforms nine and ten. I had briefly considered opening a portal to King's Cross station and skipping the car ride, but there wasn't anywhere discreet enough on either the muggle or magical side to risk it. We could have used the Apparition point on Platform 9¾, but with Teddy, Crookshanks and Polly in tow, that felt unnecessarily risky. I wasn't about to explain splinching to a traumatised Puffskein.
So, the old-fashioned way it was.
Leaning casually against the solid-looking wall, we slipped through one by one and emerged onto Platform 9¾. The Hogwarts Express stood waiting, clouds of steam billowing around it so that students and parents appeared and disappeared like dark silhouettes in the mist.
We found a compartment halfway along the train where Daphne, Tracey, Astoria and Luna were already seated. After a quick greeting, I removed Hermione's, Rachel's and my trunks from my Storage ring and stowed them neatly on the overhead racks. With our luggage settled, we stepped back out onto the platform to say goodbye.
Dad gave me a brief, firm hug. No long speech—just a quiet squeeze that said enough.
Hermione turned to Mum. "Thanks for having me to stay at your home, Mrs Carter."
"It was our pleasure, dear," Mum replied warmly. "I would invite you for Christmas, but I expect you'll all want to stay at Hogwarts, what with the Yule Ball and all."
Hermione smiled, and Mum drew her into a hug. Lowering her voice slightly, she added, "Take care of yourself, Hermione. And please, look after Ben, will you? I know he makes it look like he's got it all figured out, but in my experience, it's often the most capable man that needs a woman who sees past the strength he shows the world… and remembers to care for the heart he keeps hidden."
Hermione nodded firmly. "I'll make sure he doesn't do anything crazy. Well—no crazier than usual."
Mum smiled at that.
Just then, Harry arrived with Sirius and Remus, followed moments later by the Longbottoms. We had barely finished our farewells when the Weasleys came through the barrier in a familiar burst of noise and red hair. Ginny spotted us immediately and waved at Rachel, who waved back enthusiastically.
The whistle blew.
We climbed aboard as the doors shut behind us. Standing by the window, we waved as the train gave a loud hiss and began to move. The platform slid past in a blur of steam and waving hands. Mum and Dad grew smaller in the distance.
A moment later, the train rounded a corner and the platform sped out of sight.
We made our way back toward our compartment. As we passed by others, I noticed an unmistakable pattern—students hunched over their Wiphones, screens glowing in the dim light of the corridor. The full recording of the Quidditch World Cup final—released five days ago—was playing everywhere.
Clusters of students were replaying key moments, arguing animatedly, pointing at their screens, reliving every dive and feint as though they'd been on the pitch themselves. A few caught sight of me and quickly tried to look casual. It didn't work.
Ron ducked into a compartment with Dean and Seamus in it, already mid-sentence about the Irish Chasers. Fred and George continued further down the train, undoubtedly in search of an audience—or victims.
Hermione, Rachel, Ginny, Harry, Neville and I reached our compartment and stepped inside. The moment Neville's crup, Phil, spotted Teddy, he erupted into excited yips. Teddy responded immediately, and within seconds the two of them were hopping around in chaotic greeting, paws skidding slightly on the floor.
I shut the door and gave a small wave of my hand. The compartment expanded smoothly, the walls stretching outward just enough so we could all sit comfortably without our knees declaring war on each other. A quick snap of my fingers followed, and the dampness vanished from our hair and clothes, leaving everything warm and dry.
Rain streaked down the window, blurring the countryside into a grey smear.
I dropped into the seat beside Hermione and glanced around. That was when I caught sight of the front page of The Quibbler in Luna's hands. Splashed across it in aggressive neon green ink were the words:
THE GALACTIC JAILBREAK
Beneath the headline was a very grainy, moving photograph of one of my Loki drones—disguised as a flying saucer.
"Hey, Luna," I said lightly. "Anything interesting in there?"
"Oh yes," she replied at once. "There's a major exposé. Apparently, the aliens at the World Cup campsite weren't there to watch the match at all. They came to Earth to rescue their friends being held hostage in Area 51."
I raised an eyebrow. Everyone else looked various degrees of confused.
Ginny blinked. "What's Area 51?"
"It is a highly classified Muggle government research and storage facility located in the state of Nevada, USA," Luna said seriously. "They say it is merely used for developing and testing experimental aircraft, but it is so much more than that." She leaned forward slightly. "It's a top-secret site for housing, examining and reverse-engineering recovered alien spacecraft."
Hermione gave her a long, sceptical look. "Oh, come on, Luna. You can't seriously believe that."
"But I do," Luna replied calmly.
The compartment fell quiet.
"It all started back in 1947," she continued, "when an alien spacecraft shaped like a saucer crashed in Roswell, New Mexico. The Muggle authorities moved the wreckage and the unconscious bodies of the alien crew to Area 51 and began studying them there. That's how the Muggles in America have been making so much progress in technology lately—better computers, lasers, aircraft and so on. All because of the technology from that alien ship."
Harry stared at her. Neville looked faintly impressed.
"And those alien pilots have been held captive in Area 51 for decades," Luna went on. "They are being forced to help the Muggle scientists understand teleportation, advanced energy weaponry, galactic communications, weather control and even time travel. The Arcturians finally had enough of the American Muggle government's rudeness and decided to stage a distraction in England so they could slip into Nevada unnoticed."
Hermione sounded exasperated. "How could creating a distraction in the UK help them rescue anyone from another continent?"
Luna regarded her with patient seriousness. "Because of the ley lines, Hermione. The World Cup stadium was built on a convergence point. By appearing there, they created a thaumic interference pattern that blinded all the Muggle satellites over North America for exactly twelve minutes. It was very clever of them."
Neville cleared his throat. "I would call vaporising two dozen Death Eaters a little more than just a distraction."
"Oh, they aren't dead, Neville," Luna corrected gently. "The Arcturians used 'Glimmer-Gases' to make the Death Eaters vanish. It doesn't kill them, you see. It simply teleports them to a moon base for re-education. They'll be taught how to garden and play the harp until their humours are balanced." She smiled serenely. "It's a comforting thought, isn't it? A world where everyone just gardens."
No one seemed entirely sure how to respond to that.
Satisfied, Luna turned the page and resumed reading.
I leaned back slightly, a small smile tugging at my lips. Around me, my friends processed interplanetary moon-base rehabilitation in varying stages of disbelief.
Outside, rain continued to streak across the glass.
---
The rain grew heavier as the train pushed farther north. The sky darkened to such an extent that, by midday, the enchanted lanterns flickered on inside the corridors. The windows were fogged with steam, and beyond them the world was little more than shifting grey shadows.
A few minutes later, there was a polite knock on our compartment door.
It slid open to reveal a pale, nervous-looking third-year clutching several parchment scrolls tied neatly with violet ribbons.
"I'm supposed to deliver these to Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Daphne Greengrass and Benjamin Carter," he squeaked, carefully reading each name from the scrolls.
We exchanged puzzled looks and each accepted the one addressed to us. The boy nodded stiffly and hurried away down the corridor.
I unrolled mine.
Mr Carter,
I would be delighted if you would join me for a spot of lunch in compartment C.
Sincerely,
Professor H. E. F. Slughorn
"Ah, I see," Harry said after reading his. He glanced at me. "You're being invited to the Slug Club."
"The Slug Club?" I repeated.
"That's what everyone calls it," Daphne explained. "It's sort of a social club. My parents told me Slughorn started it when he first began teaching at Hogwarts. He invites students from influential families, as well as those with talent and intelligence, to dinners and parties. It's about forging ties and connections."
"And now that he's back from retirement," Neville added, "he's restarted the tradition. He invited me, Harry and Daphne the first time last year. Probably because of our families."
Harry nodded. "Then once he saw how brilliant Hermione was in class, he invited her too."
Hermione flushed slightly at that.
Daphne looked at me. "Now it seems he's got his eye on you. And frankly, I'm not surprised. A world-renowned novelist, film-maker, inventor, youngest self-made millionaire. If there's anyone at Hogwarts worth socialising with right now, it's you."
I sighed lightly. "Well, I suppose it would be rude to say no to lunch when asked politely." I turned to Hermione. "Shall we?"
Navigating the corridor was more cumbersome than usual. Students crowded around, many keeping one eye out for the lunch trolley. A few from our year greeted us as we passed.
Compartment C was noticeably larger than a standard one—likely expanded with a heavy-duty Capacious Extremis charm. Inside, two students were already seated beside Professor Slughorn. I recognised Blaise Zabini from our year and Cormac McLaggen, a fifth-year Gryffindor.
"Ah! Welcome, welcome!" Slughorn boomed, rising so enthusiastically that his velvet-covered belly seemed to occupy half the compartment. His bald head and impressive silvery moustache gleamed under the cabin lights, matching the golden buttons of his waistcoat.
"Harry, Neville—how are you?" he said brightly. "Miss Granger, Miss Greengrass—how absolutely lovely to see you both again! And dear Benjamin! Come in, come in!"
He shook hands with Harry, Neville and me, nodding warmly at the girls. At his gesture, we took our seats opposite him—Harry, Neville, Hermione, Daphne and I settling comfortably onto the enlarged, couch-like benches.
"Well now, this is most pleasant," Slughorn said cozily. "A chance to catch up after what must have been an exciting summer." His eyes lingered on me briefly. "And a chance to make new acquaintances. But first—lunch! Take a napkin. I've packed my own; the trolley, as I recall, is rather heavy on licorice wands, and a poor old man's digestive system isn't quite up to such things...Pheasant, Harry?"
Harry accepted a generous slice.
"How are your parents, Neville?" Slughorn asked, passing around a basket of rolls.
"They are doing quite well, sir," Neville replied.
"Excellent, excellent," Slughorn said warmly. "Good students of mine, both of them. Shame what had befallen them—but thankfully we can now think of their case as a miracle, not merely a tragedy."
He turned to Harry. "And how was your summer, my boy?"
"It was great," Harry said. "Sirius, Remus and I followed the Quidditch Cup matches around the world."
"Oh, did you now?" Slughorn beamed, offering around a tray of small pies. "Good on you! I used to do the same in my youth, but alas, I no longer possess a young man's vigour to sustain such fervour for the sport."
He politely asked Daphne and Hermione about their summers before finally turning toward me. He shifted in his seat with the air of a compere introducing his star act.
"And now," he said grandly, "Benjamin Carter! Where to begin? First, I must tell you that I am a great admirer of your books. I am not usually drawn to fiction, but it has been a long time since I read such fine stories."
"Thank you, Professor," I replied. "I'm glad you enjoyed them."
"I had very much hoped to meet you last year when I resumed my post," Slughorn continued. "A pity we were not properly introduced sooner."
"I regret that as well," I said. "I would surely have learned a thing or two from an eminent potioneer such as yourself. Unfortunately, I was quite far away from England for most of the previous school year."
"Of course, your research project," Slughorn said, nodding thoughtfully. "Quite important it was, I gather?"
"You could say that," I answered with a small smile. "After all, without a viable communications network, the Wiphone is little more than a fancy camera."
"Ah, yes—the Wiphone!" Slughorn exclaimed, producing his own emerald-coloured device from his pocket. "An ingenious creation, Benjamin. Truly. Now that I've had it for a couple of months, I can hardly imagine returning to owl post or Floo calls."
He regarded me keenly. "I hear your shop in Diagon Alley is doing quite well?"
"That's one way of putting it," I replied evenly. "We expect to reach local market saturation before the end of the year. In addition to numerous individual international owl orders, we've secured bulk contracts with the Bulgarian, French, American and Japanese Ministries. We're planning to open several Wiphone outlets worldwide within the year."
Zabini and McLaggen looked visibly startled.
Slughorn, however, gazed at me with shining eyes.
"Indeed?" he said eagerly. "Do tell us more."
---
1st September 1994
Hogwarts
At long last, the Hogwarts Express began to slow, grinding to a halt in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station. The moment the doors opened, thunder rumbled overhead, as if the sky had been waiting for dramatic timing.
Students poured out onto the platform, immediately assaulted by rain so heavy it felt as though buckets of icy water were being dumped over our heads without pause.
"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry yelled over the downpour, spotting a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.
"All righ', Harry?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving enthusiastically. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"
He began herding the shivering first-years toward the boats for their traditional crossing of the lake.
"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," Hermione said, shivering as we edged slowly along the dark platform with the crowd.
Neither would I.
We hurried into a couple of waiting carriages, and the thestrals set off at once, pulling us up the track toward the castle. Through the gates flanked by statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive we went, the carriage swaying alarmingly as the wind intensified into what was quickly becoming a gale.
Leaning against the window, I watched Hogwarts draw nearer. Its many lit windows shimmered through the thick curtain of rain, blurred by water and darkness. Lightning split the sky just as our carriage pulled to a stop before the great oak front doors at the top of the stone steps.
We jumped down. Hermione, Rachel and Ginny dashed up the stairs without hesitation. I paused just long enough to give the nearest thestral a grateful pat before running up after them.
We burst into the cavernous entrance hall, torchlight flickering against the stone walls and the magnificent marble staircase. Students were streaming in behind us, dripping everywhere.
Ron stood nearby, shaking his head like an overgrown dog and spraying water in all directions. "Blimey," he said to Seamus, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak— ARRGH!"
A large red water balloon dropped from the ceiling and exploded directly over his head.
As Ron spluttered and stumbled, I looked up just in time to see a second balloon plummeting toward Neville.
I raised my hand slightly and, without a word, diverted it mid-air. The balloon veered neatly out through the open front doors and vanished into the storm outside.
I was not in a good mood.
Scratch that, I was in a terrible mood. The autumn rains of Scotland, in semi-darkness, after a long journey? Not ideal.
I looked up.
Peeves the Poltergeist hovered near the ceiling, his bell-covered hat askew, orange bow tie flapping as he took aim with another balloon. His face was twisted with malicious delight.
That did it.
A tiny bit of my carefully restrained draconic aura slipped free.
"Piss off," I told him evenly.
Peeves froze.
His eyes widened in terror as he stared at me. With a frightened shriek, he flung the remaining balloons into the air and shot up the marble staircase at top speed, bells jangling wildly.
The students around me fell silent, staring.
At that moment, Professor McGonagall emerged from the Great Hall. She surveyed the scene sharply.
"Well? What are you all waiting for? An invitation? Into the Great Hall, come on!"
The bedraggled mass of students began moving at once. As we joined them, I subtly waved my hand and cast a silent, wandless drying charm on myself. My clothes and hair dried instantly. Hermione, Rachel and the others followed suit.
We entered the Great Hall.
It looked as splendid as ever. Golden plates and goblets gleamed beneath hundreds of floating candles suspended in midair. The four long House tables were already crowded with chattering students. At the far end, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing us.
We passed the Slytherin table, where Daphne, Tracey and Astoria peeled away to join their House. Hermione, Luna and I continued to the Ravenclaw table and took our seats. Harry, Neville, Rachel and Ginny walked on past Hufflepuff to Gryffindor at the far side.
Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein greeted me, and we exchanged brief pleasantries as the hall gradually settled.
My gaze drifted to the staff table.
Professor Dumbledore was watching me.
He did not smile. His expression was thoughtful—worried, even. Considering.
I met his gaze calmly. I had a fair idea what was on his mind.
The doors opened again, and Professor McGonagall led a long line of first-years into the Hall. They looked less like they had sailed across the lake and more like they had swum it.
All of them were shivering from cold and nerves—except the smallest boy, wrapped in what was unmistakably Hagrid's enormous overcoat. His small face stuck out above the collar, glowing with excitement.
When he caught Colin Creevey's eye at the Gryffindor table, he gave a double thumbs-up and mouthed enthusiastically, I fell in the lake!
He looked positively delighted about it.
Guess that must be Colin's brother. Dennis.
Professor McGonagall placed a three-legged stool before the first-years and set the Sorting Hat upon it.
Silence fell.
A tear near the brim opened like a mouth, and the Hat began to sing:
Now gather near and still your cheer,
Another Hogwarts year is here.
I've watched the young, I've weighed the old,
Heard whispered hopes both shy and bold.
Four founders wise divided hearts
By virtues each held dear—
The daring bold of Gryffindor,
Whose courage conquers fear.
The patient souls of Hufflepuff,
So steadfast, true, and kind,
Who work with care and faithful hands
And leave no friend behind.
The keenest minds of Ravenclaw,
Who chase the shining star,
Whose wit and wonder light the path
To truths both near and far.
And Slytherin, most cunning still,
With purpose sharp and clear,
Who shape the world with subtle strength
And see what others fear.
Yet castles learn, as years go by,
That calm blue days may hide the sky
Where distant thunder, faint and low,
Foretells of trials yet to grow.
No cause for dread, no shadow near—
But older magic stirs this year.
Tasks of skill and tests of nerve,
Rewards for those who truly serve.
Remember then, when cheers grow loud,
And glory calls a champion proud:
The brightest flame, the surest art,
Still pales beside a steadfast heart.
So take your seats, let feasting start,
But keep this wisdom close to heart—
For strength is proven, not in might,
But choosing what is just and right.
The Hall erupted in applause as the Hat fell silent.
Professor McGonagall unrolled a long parchment scroll and began calling out names. One by one, the first-years stepped forward, placed the Hat on their heads, and were sorted.
When the last boy, Kevin Whitby, was declared a Hufflepuff, Professor McGonagall removed the Hat and stool and carried them away.
Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet.
He smiled broadly at the assembled students, spreading his arms wide.
"I have only two words to say to you," he announced, his deep voice echoing through the Hall.
"Tuck in."
The Hall rang with cheers as the empty plates and goblets filled instantly with food.
---
When the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain outside could be heard.
"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at us all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.
"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."
The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
There were surprised gasps all around. The members of the House Quidditch teams were gaping at Dumbledore, too lost for words.
Dumbledore went on, "As all of you, or at least most of you know by now, the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
At Dumbledore's confirmation of Fudge's announcement at the World Cup, students at every House table began whispering fervently to their neighbors.
"The event will start in October and continue throughout the school year," Dumbledore continued, "taking up much of the teachers' time and energy and making it difficult to organise Quidditch matches accordingly."
Dumbledore looked around the hall at the excited students and went on, "Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration."
Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious.
"This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. However..."
Dumbledore raised his hand and looked intently at the student body until everyone quietened.
"We understand that age does not always guarantee efficiency and youth does not often lack innovation. Keeping that in mind, the organisers of this tournament have agreed to let students of at least fifteen years of age participate—"
Hearing this, many students, especially the Weasley twins, cheered.
"—as long as they can get past three obstacles set by the Heads of the three schools, submit their names, and get selected by our impartial judge as a Triwizard champion. As someone who would be setting up one of those preliminary tests, I beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen."
Dumbledore looked at everyone keenly over his half-moon spectacles and said, "The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"
There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall. As I was passing in front of the staff table, I heard Dumbledore's voice.
"Mr. Carter."
I turned to look at him.
"I would like to have a word with you, please," he said. "In private."
I nodded and, turning to my friends, gestured for them to go on without me.
---
1st September 1994
Headmaster's Office
The office was quiet.
Only the soft whirring of delicate silver instruments disturbed the stillness, their tiny arms spinning and puffing out faint threads of smoke. Outside the tall windows, the storm continued to rage. Now and then lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the circular room. The portraits of past headmasters dozed in their frames, offering the occasional gentle snore.
Professor Dumbledore sat behind his desk, fingers interlaced. His blue eyes were as piercing as ever — but tonight, they seemed tired.
"I have seen many extraordinary things in my life, Benjamin," he said softly. "But visitors from the sky delivering justice… that is a new one."
I met his gaze calmly. Lies would only insult his intelligence.
"You can stop fishing, Professor," I said evenly. "It was me."
He exhaled deeply.
"I suspected as much. It was all too convenient to be a mere coincidence."
He studied me for a long moment.
"Why, Benjamin?" he asked quietly. "Why such a final, absolute solution?"
I held his gaze, then reached into my Storage ring and materialised the projector. Setting it upon his desk, I activated it with a thought.
The air shimmered.
Moving images filled the space between us.
Cedric Diggory collapsing to the ground as Pettigrew's Killing Curse struck him on Voldemort's command. Amos Diggory cradling his son's lifeless body, howling in grief.
Bellatrix Lestrange laughing as Sirius fell backward through the Veil.
Remus and Tonks lying side by side in the Great Hall, pale and still.
George Weasley clutching Fred's body, inconsolable, Fred's eyes open even in death.
The tiny, unmoving form of Colin Creevey, surprise frozen on his young face.
Fenrir Greyback bending over an unconscious Lavender Brown as battle raged around them.
With each scene, Dumbledore seemed to age. His face grew paler. The lines deepened.
The projection shifted.
The Ministry of Magic. The Fountain of Magical Brethren was gone. In its place stood the "Magic is Might" monument — a grotesque statue of witches and wizards enthroned upon crushed Muggles and Muggle-borns.
Dolores Umbridge and Corban Yaxley, their expressions smug, sentencing terrified Muggle-borns to Azkaban for "stealing" magic.
I gestured to the projection.
"This," I said quietly, "is why I did what I did. To prevent all this from ever having a chance to occur."
The images shifted again.
The Astronomy Tower.
Draco Malfoy, wand trembling.
"Draco," Dumbledore's voice echoed from the projection, "years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you."
"I don't want your help!" Draco cried. "Don't you understand? I have to do this. I have to kill you… or he's going to kill me."
The image froze on Draco's anguished face.
I looked at the man seated before me.
"I know Voldemort is gone," I said quietly. "But what kind of man do you think Draco Malfoy would have grown into under Lucius Malfoy's influence? Vincent Crabbe? Gregory Goyle? Theodore Nott Jr? Do you believe there was any real chance they would become kind and compassionate when their ears were constantly filled with prejudice and bigotry?"
Dumbledore was silent for several seconds.
"Why not incapacitate them?" he asked at last. "Arrest them. Send them to Azkaban."
I did not look away.
"Thirteen years ago, they were arrested and brought before the Wizengamot," I said. "You were there. You chose mercy. You gave them a second chance."
The storm rumbled faintly.
"And what did they do with it?" I continued. "They tortured a Muggle family — children — for sport in front of a hundred thousand people. Do you truly believe they committed no other hidden atrocities in those thirteen years?"
I shook my head.
"It needed to end. So I ended it."
Silence filled the office.
Dumbledore looked older than I had ever seen him.
"And do you feel no regret, Benjamin?" he asked softly. "To take so many lives… it is a heavy burden for a soul so young."
"Do I regret it knowing what they were — knowing what they would have done if given the slightest chance?" I answered steadily. "No."
My voice softened.
"Do I wish there had been another way? With all my heart. Did I try to find one? I did. God knows, I did. But sometimes in life, there are no easy choices."
Lightning flashed outside.
"You are old, Professor," I said quietly. "You will not be holding the reins of the Wizarding World much longer. And I will be leaving this world after my O.W.L. year."
His head lifted sharply.
I nodded.
"I told you about my mission. I have already learned almost everything Hogwarts can teach me. In two years, I continue my journey. But I will not leave knowing my friends might fall into danger because others cannot see past their hatred."
My jaw tightened slightly.
"I would rather get my hands dirty so that the rest of the world stays clean."
Dumbledore's gaze drifted to Fawkes. The phoenix released a low, mournful note.
"And what of those you love?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "Your friends? Hermione? Your parents? What happens when they learn what you have done? That you chose to be judge, jury, and executioner?"
I exhaled slowly.
"They won't have to find out," I said. "Not yet. In time, I will tell them myself."
My voice remained steady.
"And if they cannot look at me the same way again… if they choose to leave… that is a price I am willing to pay."
I met his eyes without flinching.
"I would rather stand alone in the shadows and watch over them laughing in the light, than have them love me and live constantly in harm's way."
Dumbledore did not speak again.
But the pain in his aged eyes was unmistakable — the sorrow of a man watching someone trade their innocence for what they believed was lasting peace.