Sensing the conversation growing a bit too revealing, Dumbledore smoothly shifted the topic.
"Douglas, what's your view on the Deathly Hallows?"
He truly wanted to understand how this remarkable young man regarded not just the Hallows, but the very nature of death and power. In a way, it was the oldest question of all—what do you dream of, when you dream beyond your limits?
To transcend death: it was something every talented young wizard pondered at some point. Some only dreamed, but others dared to act.
Douglas took a bite of roasted snake, savoring the simple pleasure.
After a moment's thought, he countered,
"Professor, you possess the Elder Wand, and from what Harry's told me, the Invisibility Cloak was in your care for years. You may not have the Resurrection Stone, but do you really believe that collecting all three makes someone the master of death?"
Dumbledore's eyes grew distant. He glanced at the stone box beneath Douglas and replied softly,
"Legend says only the one who unites the Hallows can become master of death… Douglas, if you were to gather them all, what would you do?"
He caught himself—when had the question turned around on him?
Douglas blinked, then grinned.
"The Elder Wand? I already have a wand that rivals it, without the threat of backfiring. The Invisibility Cloak? With my skills, do you really think I need a cloak to disappear?
As for the Resurrection Stone, the story is clear—it doesn't truly bring back the dead. They return, but they're not really part of this world. If anything, the stone doesn't bring the dead to the living, but lures the living toward death…
So, if I ever did collect the Hallows, I doubt they'd be of much use to me.
It seems those who chase the Hallows never stop to consider what it means to be 'master of death'."
A spark lit in Dumbledore's eyes—whether from the snake meat or Douglas's words, it was hard to say. He set aside his empty skewer, grabbed another from the grill, and said,
"You see something different in that phrase, don't you? Go on, tell me… And I must say, your cooking is extraordinary."
Douglas rummaged in his box, produced two bottles of magically chilled cola, and handed one to Dumbledore before taking a long, satisfied sip.
"Most people treat 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' as folklore or fairy tale. They never stop to wonder if it's really just an allegory about three brothers who forged powerful, dangerous magical artifacts.
But the real point of the story is at the end. The third brother, who spent his life evading Death, didn't achieve immortality, nor did he outwit Death. He died, just like the others.
The difference was, he welcomed Death as an equal, and left this world with peace in his heart.
To me, 'master of death' was never about collecting three artifacts and stacking up magical buffs. That's for children—or for those obsessed with immortality and power.
I think it means accepting death. When your life reaches its end, face Death with the calm of Ignotus Peverell. If your life transcends death, then even in dying, you remain alive."
Douglas couldn't help rubbing his nose as he spoke. He'd said, "when life reaches its end," but with the System Shop at his disposal, would his life ever truly end? The thought was almost comically vexing.
Dumbledore, listening quietly, gazed into the fire, murmuring,
"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death…"
Douglas didn't quite catch it. "Sorry, Professor?"
Dumbledore shook his head, a warm smile spreading across his face.
"Douglas, you're truly remarkable. No wonder you can write such wonderful stories. When I was your age, I was exactly the sort of person you described—always chasing power.
I agree, the Hallows are just powerful magical tools, not keys to immortality. Still, in my youth, I dreamed that if I could unite them, I might live forever and realize some grand ideal.
But then… certain things happened. As I grew older, I read the story again, and I came to the same insight as you.
A toast, to an extraordinary young man."
He raised his bottle, and Douglas grinned as they clinked together.
Douglas gazed off into the distance, his tone turning reflective.
"While traveling, I once heard a poem from the East, in the Muggle world. Some lines reminded me of you, Professor:
'Some people are alive, yet already dead;
Some are dead, but still alive.
Some carve their names in stone, seeking "immortality";
Some would rather be wild grass, waiting for the fire below.
Some live so that others cannot live;
Some live so that many more may live better.
Those who carve names in stone—their names decay faster than their bodies;
Wherever the spring wind blows, green grass grows…'"
Dumbledore listened, turning the words over in his mind. Finally, he replied,
"Hah, I don't think that's about me—I'm not nearly so noble.
It's about those who gave their lives resisting Tom's ambitions. The ones who remain nameless, content to be wild grass—those are the truly great.
It's also a rebuke to Tom, and to those who would do anything for immortality. No matter how powerful their magic, history proves they all must face death in the end…"
Douglas echoed the sentiment,
"Exactly. They never understand that death isn't the end of life, but a step beyond time and space—into another world…"
Dumbledore nodded, his voice low and thoughtful.
"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."
Douglas turned to look at him, tempted to say, "Professor, I think we're talking about two different things…"
As the meal ended and they packed up, neither mentioned what had actually been found.
Douglas slipped the Anti-Magic Stone Box back into his pocket as naturally as breathing. Dumbledore watched but said nothing.
He and Douglas were not the same. Dumbledore had loved and lost, and if not for his promise to Douglas—and the awe he'd felt at the box's magic-dampening power—he might have slipped the ring onto his own finger the moment he saw it.
Yes, he had to admit it: the temptation to see loved ones again was almost overwhelming.
But Douglas was different. He knew exactly what he wanted, and strove to win it by his own hand.
Sometimes, Dumbledore wondered if Douglas knew more than he let on—about Ariana, perhaps. Why else would he have been so insistent that Dumbledore not touch the ring?
Even within the anti-magic field, the ring's curse had been palpable. Dumbledore doubted he would have survived if he'd put it on.
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