Before the formal duel, Hodge Blackthorn hurried off to visit a certain retired old man.
Dumbledore's cheeks had filled out considerably. He was half-reclining in a comfortable armchair, a kettle of black tea bubbling merrily on a small stove, a plate of sweets on the table beside him. If it weren't for the still-clear blue of his eyes, Hodge might have suspected this was Professor Slughorn in disguise.
"A duel," Dumbledore said keenly. "It seems to have marked you as its enemy of its own accord. What do you make of that?"
"I suspect it wants to take something from me," Hodge replied. "Maybe Sebastian's memories, or something else it hasn't revealed yet…" He shook his head. "Over the years, the Sacred Silence has attacked more than a thousand wizards, yet very few victims ever showed symptoms of memory loss. Vikram was one of the exceptions. I asked Madam Bones to look into it, and she discovered it once appeared without warning in France and attacked a witch named Rodrick. According to those close to her, Rodrick had also survived that same magical accident—only she'd left the country afterward and, entirely self-taught, mastered an extraordinarily powerful spell. Unfortunately, after the assault, she remembered nothing at all."
Hodge's expression darkened.
He had an even deeper theory. As he'd told Dumbledore, the Sacred Silence coveted something inside him—something tied to Sebastian Sallow. That was precisely why it had appeared at Hogwarts three separate times. It wasn't merely the concentration of wizards at the school; far more crucially, Hodge was there, acting like a beacon. The entity could follow some faint, inexorable thread and pinpoint his location.
And after hearing what Amelia Bones had managed to pry from Muggle government sources, Hodge had developed a powerful premonition: he himself was almost certainly a far more suitable host than any the Sacred Silence had ever claimed before. That compatibility probably stemmed from the strikingly similar paths their magic had taken. Hodge was a singular, complete individual, yet on a higher plane—on the level of gods—he and the Sacred Silence were innately harmonious. If the two ever merged, they might shatter a certain limitation: the ceiling on magical power that had plagued Dumbledore for more than half a century.
"So the world really has changed?" Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eye. "Injecting one's thoughts into fractured temporal energy… the backlash is evidently far milder than sending an entire living person back through time. To be perfectly frank, Hodge, I did wonder whether you might not belong to this era at all—whether you'd crossed space and time bearing some mission. Honestly, the two possibilities are difficult to distinguish."
"Was it that obvious?" Hodge blinked.
"Oh, you could hardly expect you and Ginny to behave the same way. That poor child was terrified by memories that didn't belong to her. I'm very glad her fate remained unchanged… isn't that right?"
"If you mean Harry—"
"Ahem." Dumbledore looked positively mischievous. "They've named their first son Albus. I'm truly honored. To hear such wonderful news before I leave this world… I wish the boy every luck."
Hodge's face took on a strange expression.
"Don't worry about me, Hodge," Dumbledore said gently. "Death is simply another great adventure. Until I have my ticket in hand, I'm quite content to admire the scenery along the way—you know how I am about different perspectives."
So that's why you're acting like none of this concerns you? Hodge silently grumbled. At present Dumbledore retained only the largely ceremonial title of President of the International Confederation of Wizards, yet at this critical juncture his very existence reassured countless people. To be fair, the Confederation was both frantically busy and strangely idle: on the one hand, the Statute of Secrecy was irreparably crumbling and Ministries of Magic worldwide were in panic; on the other, the churches and the mutually hostile factions of gifted individuals were drawing almost all public attention. That gave wizards precious breathing room to adjust policy. In many places—East Asia, Britain, France—they were cooperating with local governments, sometimes even operating as subordinate departments.
That wasn't to say there was no friction; friction was endless. But every controversy had been buried for now. During this window of opportunity, Ministries that wished to preserve their independence (led by the British Ministry) had signed a series of legal agreements with their Muggle counterparts. The International Confederation of Wizards served as mediator and lubricant; attempts by individual Ministries were gathered here and forwarded to whichever regions needed them.
In short, after talking with Dumbledore for hours, Hodge felt considerably lighter.
September 9th. The duel officially began.
To any future observer—Muggle or magical alike—this would be remembered as a battle of epochal importance. It lacked the dazzling spells and fireworks typical of wizarding duels; many who witnessed fragments of it understood almost nothing of what they saw. It began far from any city, known only to a handful of people in the magical community who prayed in silence. Two days later, the combatants appeared for the first time inside a city, in a church.
The instant the Sacred Silence manifested, nearby people noticed. They eagerly raised phones and cameras, but in the next heartbeat their bodies froze as though encased in amber. Like insects trapped in resin, they were dragged inexorably toward the entity. More than a dozen city blocks sank into wordless terror.
Then a hand appeared out of nowhere.
It emerged from overlapping folds of space, reached without warning into the Sacred Silence's head, and began digging. The horrifying scene was faithfully recorded by a helicopter that had just arrived on the scene. The suddenly wounded entity let out a blood-curdling shriek. A sphere of sacred brilliance exploded from its body—blinding, unbearable light.
When the glare faded, the Sacred Silence had vanished into thin air. Everyone collapsed like harvested wheat.
An arm pushed through the emptiness, followed by a shoulder, then a head. Hodge swiftly scanned the surroundings, frowned, and flicked his wand. The helicopter, which had been spiraling out of control, was caught by an invisible force and gently lowered to the ground.
But his attention was elsewhere. He rubbed the air as though feeling for something, then strode over to an ordinary person lying crumpled on the pavement. He lifted the man's eyelid—and in that instant, Hodge stepped into a fantastical world.
He stood in a space of pure white, a realm that did not belong to the physical plane but to the mind. One step forward and the print of his shoe rippled outward like water. Soon he saw a towering white spire piercing the heavens. He shook his head once, and the scene abruptly shifted: the spire became a throne. Upon it sat a being that looked very much like a god, gazing down at Hodge.
"Nice place," Hodge remarked to the figure on the throne. "Bit noisy, though."
He could hear ceaseless chanting that lent the space an aura of immaculate holiness. Yet Hodge recognized it instantly for what it was: nothing more than the mental domain of the Sacred Silence, carved out by devouring the spiritual energy of countless wizards and Muggles.
"I am the Sacred," the entity declared.
"Fake," Hodge answered with a radiant grin. "You know, I really must thank you. For a long time I assumed one of us would have to devour the other—destiny and all that. But you surprised me. On instinct alone you managed to create a crude mental world. If it weren't for the foundation you laid, I couldn't have done this…"
As he spoke he looked around, clearly pleased with the space.
"This is my domain," the Sacred Silence said—it, or perhaps He. "You should not trespass."
"Let you keep gathering strength and then go wreak more havoc?" Hodge laughed softly. As he spoke, layer after layer of light settled over his body. "Haven't you noticed? You never fully controlled this place. Mental power, temporal power, the power of divination… everything converges here. I know you want my strength. Fine—I'll give it to you."
"You will become the master of all these powers… provided you can wield them better than I can."