Harry and the others ran through Hogwarts' corridors.
In Edith's pocket sat the Arch, shrunk by magic.
Harry's group had judged that entrusting this trump card—currently the only means of defeating Mirabelle—to Edith was the best choice.
Harry had Voldemort, Edith had Mirabelle.
Each had fated enemies they should fight.
Therefore, they'd decided the Arch should be entrusted to Edith.
"...That is?!"
Harry, running at the front, noticed something and stopped.
Hermione followed, gasping and covering her mouth with her hand.
Before them lay a corpse.
A red-haired young man in Hogwarts robes they recognized.
"N-no way...?"
This was war.
So someone might die—they'd actually prepared themselves for it.
But seeing someone they knew turned into a corpse before their eyes, they could feel that resolve rapidly withering.
"Ron... no..."
Hermione shed tears, calling that name.
The corpse was—Ron. Ronald Weasley.
Eyes still wide open in death, he lay on the floor with an expression frozen in terror.
Why? Why was he dead? Why in this place?
Harry staggered toward Ron, reaching out to touch the body.
But a red flash intervened, blowing Harry away.
"Stop, Potter! Don't touch that!"
The spell's caster—Snape—ran toward them with a panicked expression.
Seeing this, anger welled up in Harry's heart.
So he was an enemy after all. The fact that he'd just attacked him proved it.
No—he should never have trusted him from the start.
Harry drew his wand in anger and pointed it at Snape.
But Edith grabbed his hand.
"Wait, Harry."
"Why stop me?! He just attacked me!"
"No, it wasn't an attack. Professor Snape protected you."
Unlike Harry, whose distrust of Snape was mounting, Edith remained calm.
If Snape were truly an enemy, that strike should have knocked Harry unconscious or seriously injured him.
But in reality, he'd only blown him away.
Meaning there was a reason he'd wanted to prevent contact, even by force.
"That Ron corpse has a curse on it... probably the type that activates on contact."
Had Harry touched it, the curse would have activated that instant and attacked him.
Once touched, even Dumbledore likely couldn't escape death from such a curse.
He probably wouldn't die while protective magic lived within Voldemort, but he'd certainly be immobilized.
That's why Snape had blown Harry away—to stop him.
"Exactly. And that's not Ronald Weasley... just some unrelated student who was transfigured."
Snape spoke without meeting Harry's eyes.
He had no time to spare looking at him.
The presence of Ron's corpse—no, something disguised as it—with a curse meant the culprit had clearly targeted Harry.
Moreover, they were likely still lurking.
"Who... who set such a trap?!"
"Obvious. None other than the Dark Lord."
Only Voldemort harbored such obsessive determination to kill Harry.
As if proving those words, the black-robed emperor appeared from around the corner.
Vertically slit pupils, nostril-like slits for a nose, and a lipless mouth.
That inhuman, ugly face undoubtedly belonged to Voldemort, hailed as the wizarding world's greatest terror.
"Severus Snape... you traitor..."
Grinding his teeth, the emperor glared at Snape, oozing hatred.
His most faithful, useful subordinate's unexpected rebellion.
More than enough to grate on Voldemort's nerves.
Yet Snape showed no disturbance, glaring back instead.
"My Lord, you're wrong. I've been Dumbledore's subordinate for a long time. Since that day you targeted Lily, I've been your enemy."
Harry's eyes widened at Snape's unexpected words.
He'd never heard this before.
Was that his true feeling?
If so, Snape had tried to protect his mother.
Yet he'd called her "Mudblood."
That part he couldn't understand.
"True, you wanted that woman... but after she died, you admitted there were pure-blood women more suitable for you."
"Of course, I said so in words. I lied to deceive you. But my heart always belonged to Lily. I loved her from childhood through my entire life."
For love's sake.
In the end, that alone was Severus Snape's reason for moving.
Pure-blood or Muggle-born didn't matter.
Snape simply loved Lily Evans.
That's why he'd protected Harry, son of the detestable James.
All for Lily... Snape needed no other reason.
"Do you realize how many years have passed since then? After such a long time, you'd dedicate such a worthless thing to a woman who never looked back?"
"Always."
Snape drew his wand, confronting Voldemort.
No fear there.
Rather, he seemed to have always desired this moment.
How many times had he swallowed his anger?
How many times had he bowed his head to his beloved's killer?
Since that day—when his shallow accusation led to Lily's death—he'd regretted it. Suffered.
But that would end today.
'You must have felt so good! You don't even know how my mother died, do you? She begged for my life and was killed like an insect by Voldemort! All because of what you caused!'
Harry's words had gouged Snape's heart like a knife.
He hadn't known. That Lily met such an end.
That strong-willed woman begged for her life to protect her son, loved him.
Then now, he must carry on that will.
He must protect the keepsake she loved, even by exchanging everything he was.
That alone was the only atonement he could make. Snape had resolved that.
"Go, Potter. You have something you must do, don't you?"
"But..."
If they left now, Snape would face Voldemort one-on-one.
Then sooner or later, he'd be killed—that was obvious.
Snape was a skilled wizard, but whether he could defeat the emperor—that was overly optimistic at best.
Hence the hesitation, but Snape's rebuke flew at Harry.
"Don't lose sight of what you must do! What is your duty?!"
At Snape's words, Harry thought.
What should he do?
Prevent damage, defeat Mirabelle. Certainly those were important roles.
But that was Edith's role. Not his mission.
And the role discussed in the Headmaster's office the day before the final battle was...
"...Sorry, Edith, Hermione. I'm staying here. I have to stay."
Harry stepped forward with a resolved expression and stood beside Snape.
"Potter... I told you to go."
"I refuse. Fighting Voldemort here is what I must do."
His mission. Not defeating Mirabelle, but defeating Voldemort.
Edith had Edith's destiny, he had his own.
Mirabelle was the destiny they should fight, and fighting Voldemort here was his destiny.
Having resolved to fight thus, Hermione stood beside Harry.
"Hermione, you don't have to go this far!"
"No way, I won't accept being left behind after coming this far. Your fight is my fight. And when we die, we die together, Harry."
Snape, Harry, and Hermione glared at Voldemort, raising their wands.
Edith tried to join them, but Hermione blocked her with her hand.
"Go, Edith."
"B-but..."
"This is our battle. And you have your own battle."
A destiny to fulfill.
Harry and the others now faced Voldemort to fulfill it.
Then Edith too should face her own destiny. So Hermione told her.
"You don't have time to worry about us... your opponent is far more monstrous than Voldemort."
That this wasn't an exaggeration, Edith already understood.
She'd never forgotten that battle at the Ministry.
That overwhelming strength still burned in her eyes.
And terrifyingly, that evolving friend was expected to have become even more vicious.
"I understand..."
She'd leave Voldemort to them!
Not that she felt no anxiety.
But she'd decided to believe. That they could win.
So she wouldn't look back anymore.
They'd simply fulfill their roles.
"Harry, Hermione, and Professor Snape! Please don't die!"
"Yeah, Edith, you stay safe too!"
Perhaps they'd never meet again.
Without voicing that anxiety, Edith ran.
Her destination: the massive castle looming oppressively over Hogwarts—Durmstrang Institute.
The innermost chamber of Durmstrang, the throne room.
There, numerous corpses lay scattered.
Not Mirabelle's subordinates' bodies. The last Death Eaters who'd boarded to strike her down.
Amycus Carrow and Alecto Carrow.
Thorfinn Rowle and Gibbon. Several others. All powerful wizards.
But leaving aside Voldemort himself, his hangers-on stood no chance against the demon now.
Annihilated in roughly three minutes from battle's start, they'd been transformed down to the last one into speechless lumps of meat.
"Ha, opponents with no substance."
The demon who'd achieved this sat on her throne without a single spatter of blood.
Against opponents of this level, she apparently no longer needed to even stand.
Legs crossed in that posture, she swirled a wine glass in one hand, enjoying its scent.
Just the blood of nothing-special small fry, but well, good enough as an aperitif.
"Now then, will you lot entertain me?"
Mirabelle narrowed her eyes pleasantly, looking at new visitors.
Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Order members like Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks.
Moreover, Albus Dumbledore commanding them.
Plus even Edith Lainagull.
Another was... Neville Longbottom, wasn't it?
Some strange additions, but quite a luxurious lineup.
This might actually provide some enjoyment.
"Mirabelle... before we fight, I'll ask just once. Can you not sheathe your weapon?"
"Oh, how merciful. If I sheathe my weapon, you'll overlook this?"
"...No, I'm not the one who'll overlook. I want you to overlook."
At the unexpected words from Dumbledore's mouth, Mirabelle showed surprise.
This wasn't concession.
That great wizard was actually pleading for her to concede.
"I learned of your past."
"...!"
"There I first understood. How hollow the words I've spoken to you until now were. How foolish the wizarding world... no, how foolish I was."
Dumbledore spoke regretfully.
Life was always a succession of anguish and regret.
This old man, respected by those around him as a perfect human, was no exception—perhaps he'd walked a life more full of regrets than anyone.
Here now stood not a great wizard but simply one exhausted old man's true form.
"You were right that I ran... I feared committing mistakes. I've been begged many times in the past to become Minister of Magic. But—ah, forgive this presumptuous way of speaking—I was more capable than others. Could do more. And therefore, my mistakes also tended to become larger. I feared that, so I took the Headmaster's seat. Perhaps I tried to have young talents like you accomplish what I couldn't by guiding them."
That was his true feelings he'd never revealed to others.
The words of a man regretting a life of conceit, regret, and running.
"But I was wrong again. Fearing mistakes, I committed an even greater mistake. ...I won't ask for forgiveness now. But if you still have even the slightest heart that acknowledges me... won't you give this world another chance? Won't you change this world with us... into a world that doesn't need to spill so much blood?"
At Dumbledore's quiet persuasion, Mirabelle lowered her lashes.
And thought—perhaps she'd always waited for these words.
Mirabelle cast a gaze of understanding toward the old man unlike any she'd shown before, and spoke.
"...I wish I'd heard those words much earlier... Professor Dumbledore."
Had she heard these words then, their paths might still have crossed.
In first year at that time.
In second year at that time.
If in third year... if in fourth year.
—At that battle in the Department of Mysteries.
But too late now, too late.
She'd already begun the invasion of the wizarding world.
Trampling numerous lives, dyeing herself in blood.
She'd already destroyed her retreat.
She couldn't possibly retreat now, couldn't stop either.
Because she was Mirabelle Beresford, she could no longer stop.
"I'll make my final concession too. Will you sheathe your weapon and follow me? If so, I'll overlook you."
"If I follow, will you stop further killing?"
"Impossible. I'll eliminate all inferior species infesting the wizarding world. That's already decided."
Eradicating pure-blood supremacy. And resetting wizarding history.
This war was the means to accomplish that.
Unifying Ireland, Britain, France, and Germany's wizarding worlds, erasing the very existence called British wizarding world from this world.
Reducing all history to dust, starting a new ideal world.
No need for rusty pure-blood supremacy there. No need for ideology that stopped evolution.
"Now, most pure-blood wizards living in the wizarding world are pure-blood supremacists... destroying them all means killing all the wizarding world's pure-bloods."
"All the better. I can sever all future troubles."
Pure-blood ideology held no thought of coexisting with Muggle-borns.
Then she'd separate them as desired. Make them never cross paths for eternity.
But those who'd perish were them. They were the ones unnecessary to the wizarding world.
"Besides, this is a necessary choice for the wizarding world's future. You understand too, don't you? That there's no future at the end of pure-blood ideology."
Now, wizards who could be called pure-blood in the wizarding world had become surprisingly few.
What supported the wizarding world's population were half-bloods and Muggle-borns.
Meaning Muggles' existence was now essential to maintaining wizards. No other method existed to increase population.
Yet pure-blood ideology denied that, trying to keep interbreeding among pure-bloods.
This would inevitably collide with population problems and gradually perish.
How absurd.
"The wizarding world now stands at a turning point. To survive, it must abandon old principles and advance on new paths. The time has come for the wizarding world to evolve."
What maintained the wizarding world wasn't pure-bloods but Muggle-borns.
Pure-blood ideology that kept trying to exclude them was now only a hindrance.
How to completely sever that worthless ideology? What was the best move?
...Obvious. If pure-blood wizards simply didn't exist, no one could say such things.
Muggle-borns wouldn't lead to the future no matter how you excluded them.
Complete exclusion would lead only to repeated incest, while half-hearted inclusion would perpetuate this conflict.
But pure-bloods—exclude them completely once, and that alone sufficed.
A matter of selection.
As history proved, pure-blood supremacy and accepting Muggles were absolutely incompatible.
Leave it half-finished and seeds of conflict would remain forever, spawning second and third Voldemorts.
This worthless spiral would continue eternally.
Therefore, they must choose.
Which to leave to the future. And which to discard.
"So you'd discard the old?"
"Natural providence, Dumbledore. Organisms have always evolved thus. As early humans vanished from earth, as archaic humans perished. The wizarding world's time to do so has come."
That ideology of Mirabelle's might be correct from a biological development perspective.
But Dumbledore absolutely couldn't agree with it.
Changing his path now was impossible.
He couldn't betray everyone's trust.
Because he was Albus Dumbledore, he couldn't concede here.
"I'll return your answer... it's 'NO.'"
"I see... well, the expected response."
Perhaps never had the two understood each other as much as now.
Each had things they believed in.
Futures they didn't want to acknowledge.
Crossing gazes, the two knew each other's hearts better than ever.
For the first time since meeting until today, they understood each other.
And because they understood, they couldn't understand.
Coexistence no longer existed on the paths they walked.
At Dumbledore burning the flame of will, looking straight at her, Mirabelle smiled quietly.
A gentle smile like a calm wind—yet such a face wasn't needed here.
Therefore, she changed her expression to that of a fierce tyrant, pushing her internal madness to the forefront.
She couldn't stop anymore.
Wouldn't let it stop.
Having come this far, only one path remained—one of them must perish.
"Negotiation failed—then, everyone die."
Mirabelle's malice exploded.
***
Fake Ron's corpse: Flaming red hair, face covered in freckles. Blue eye color. Also tall and lanky. Wearing robes. Real Ron: Muscle-packed macho man. 188cm tall with a solid muscular physique. Deep-featured dandy face and unnaturally wig-like red hair. Shirtless. Harry: "...Why did I mistake them...?"
(´ω`) Good evening, everyone. Chapter 81 with the last battle starting. And this story too has less than a week remaining. By the time next Sunday arrives, it will be finished.
Off Screen
Romando: "...It's huge. That's it, right?" Trevor: "Yeah—that's the star's enemy. The enemy of all life on this planet... Lavos." Lavos: "AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" Trevor: "Sorry Ron, dragging you into this... you really wanted to stay for the Hogwarts decisive battle, didn't you?" Romando: "It's fine. I left saving the wizarding world to Harry and the others. I'll save this planet everyone lives on." Trevor: "..." Romando: "..."
—The two men needed no more words. Only complete trust like they'd fought together for years existed.
Trevor: "Let's go! For all who live on this star!" Romando: "This is our final battle!"
The ultimate decisive battle—begins—!
***
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