Having witnessed Mirabelle's past, Edith remained silent for several seconds.
Her emotions tangled over the tragedy that befell her sister and friend—she didn't even know whether to feel angry or sad.
She honestly didn't remember much about her sister.
Her parents' divorce occurred before she could form memories, and she hadn't even remembered her sister's face until seeing these memories.
But what were these tears streaming down both cheeks?
Sadness over the tragedy that befell them? Or grief that she'd never see her sister again?
Unable to understand even that, Edith couldn't stop the flowing tears.
She didn't think everything Mirabelle did was right.
She couldn't believe the current Mirabelle's actions represented absolute justice.
Yet she couldn't help but rage at what had befallen those two.
After something like that, how could anyone not harbor resentment?
Thinking of Mirabelle's heart made her chest feel even more constricted.
"This is the past of that person I knew... the Ministry's greatest mistake."
At Mary's words, Edith looked down.
Mirabelle was certainly no saint. She'd been thoroughly shown that.
But if they were put in the same position, could they truly say the same things now?
If important people were killed by the Ministry's arbitrary actions, could they not hate it?
"What you do after seeing this is your freedom."
The surrounding scenery returned to Hogsmeade, and Mary spoke as they walked through it.
Edith, still unable to sort her emotions, didn't know what was right.
But one thing she should do was perfectly clear.
"...I want to meet Mirabelle again. I don't know what I can do by meeting her, but still... I think if things stay like this, no one will be happy."
"I see... you really are kind, aren't you?"
The answer Edith arrived at was surely foolish.
Wanting to meet someone who'd explicitly stated she'd kill her next time was nothing but a fool's action.
Yet she wanted to believe.
That humanity still remained in Mirabelle's heart.
Otherwise, she wouldn't have kept her sister's Patronus all this time.
At that time.
In fourth year, she hadn't been able to grasp Mirabelle's hand.
Yesterday too, she'd shaken it off.
Perhaps it was too late now. Perhaps too little, too late.
But if permitted... this time, she wanted to grasp her hand.
No matter how much she was hated, no matter if called playing at friendship...
Even so, Mirabelle had been an important friend to her.
Eventually the two arrived before Hogwarts, where Mary stopped.
This journey to the afterlife apparently ended here.
"I cannot go beyond here. But Edith, you can still return."
"...Yeah."
"Now, go. Potter and the others are waiting for you."
Saying so, Mary pushed Edith's shoulder and turned on her heel.
The dead couldn't go beyond here.
From here on was something Edith and the others living in the present would weave.
"Mary... we'll meet again, right?"
"Who knows? You could say we'll meet, or you could say we won't."
Without turning around, Mary walked the path she'd come from.
But her mouth relaxed, and Edith could tell she was surely smiling.
Still facing away, Mary spoke in a gentle yet somehow teasing voice.
"I am always with you. So in that sense, perhaps we're always meeting."
With those words as the last, her vision dyed white again.
And—the dream ended.
"...dis! Edith!"
At the voice calling her, Edith slowly opened her eyes.
What appeared in her vision was Hermione, her face a mess with tears.
Harry stood beside her with a worried face too, and she understood she'd returned.
...She'd made it back.
She still wasn't dead.
"Thank goodness... really, that you're safe...! I thought, what if Edith died..."
She stroked the head of Hermione, who clung to her, and raised her upper body.
Then she felt sharp pain in her chest and grimaced slightly.
Even though protective magic deflected it, it was still the Killing Curse. Apparently she couldn't escape unscathed.
"I'm glad... but what exactly happened? The Killing Curse that should have hit you bounced back... and hit him, shattering his body."
Harry seemed puzzled, apparently not thinking this was a reenactment of what once happened to himself.
But the most confused person here was probably Sidney.
He'd lost half his body—his entire right side—and stared this way with a dazed expression.
Likely he didn't even understand what had happened.
"..."
Without understanding the situation... yet his purpose remained unchanged.
He cast magic despite losing half his body.
No arm. No leg. Half his body gone.
So what?
That wasn't reason enough to stop fighting.
With one wand wave, he transformed his own body.
Forcibly reconnecting the lost parts, transforming his very body into a monster.
Having abandoned even human form, Sidney charged at Edith... and the moment he touched her, he cracked.
"...!?"
His expression didn't change, yet an atmosphere of surprise emanated from Sidney.
While protective magic was active, evil ones couldn't even touch its target.
Just as Quirrell once couldn't touch Harry, Sidney who'd fired death magic at Edith was blocked by protective magic and could accomplish nothing.
Edith lowered her eyes and told the pitiful lump of loyalty:
"I'm sorry... I'm going to stop Mirabelle."
The places Sidney touched cracked, burned, and vanished.
Sidney could no longer even touch her.
Whether he'd exhausted his strength from that one strike, or whether the protective magic was that powerful—
Sidney collapsed as if his strings had been cut...
Edith caught the crumbling boy's body and gently embraced him.
A perishing, disappearing body... yet strangely, Sidney felt no pain.
Perhaps because Edith held no malice toward him.
"Because surely, it's something I have to do..."
What Sidney felt was a strange gentleness.
As he perished, he even felt an odd warmth.
Come to think of it, he'd never felt such a thing before.
His sister had never once seen him as a brother, treating him only as a tool, and he'd desired that too.
But perhaps... just once, he'd wanted to be held like this.
"So... I'm sorry..."
As Sidney felt his body disappearing, he felt his heart at peace.
He opened his eyes slightly and looked at the world.
A world that until now had reflected no color but gold.
Yet now, strangely, he could see things well.
Harry Potter's black hair, Hermione Granger's chestnut hair.
And Edith Lainagull's brown hair as she held him.
In his fading consciousness, he thought:
—Ah, so this is the color the world had.
With that thought as his last, Sidney Beresford vanished from this world.
Whether what filled his heart at the end was salvation or whether he felt nothing—
That was something only he could know.
—He wanted a weapon.
Neville Longbottom had never before wanted the power to fight this much.
A wand, a blunt instrument, anything.
Right now, he wanted the power to fight to protect this school.
But his wand was far away—when he'd been disarmed, the impact had sent it flying somewhere, and he'd lost sight of it.
While teachers including McGonagall desperately fought back, his inability to do anything after making that bold declaration felt beyond pathetic—downright miserable.
Should he just charge in with bare hands?
Even such a desperate thought surfaced, and he looked at Quirrell, who was giving orders to the Basilisks and vampires.
Right—anything was better than languishing here.
Even without a wand, with his one life he could waste one of their spells.
Using his body as a shield would let one more person live.
Just as he was about to execute such a reckless challenge, something was placed on his head, blocking his vision.
"Wha?!"
"Don't think foolish thoughts, Longbottom."
What had been placed on him was the Sorting Hat he'd worn before.
Lifting the hat, his gaze met McGonagall's, her brow slightly furrowed as if angry.
"Longbottom, you showed us courage. I won't allow you to throw that away in a meaningless death."
Neville's figure had rallied the Hogwarts students' flagging courage.
If he died meaninglessly, everyone's spirits might finally break.
Teaching him this, McGonagall shot down surrounding wizards with magic.
"That hat contains a sword that only true Gryffindors can draw. You will surely be able to draw it."
McGonagall said only that and threw herself back into the melee.
Following her, Neville too leaped into battle.
Strangely, he felt no anxiety.
Rather, he had an odd conviction that he could help now.
Following his heart's guidance, he reached into the hat and drew forth—in his hand gleamed a beautiful silver sword.
Neville gripped that sword with both hands and charged without hesitation.
His target: the Basilisk producing the most deaths here.
Taking aim at one of them, he beheaded it as they passed!
—He could do this!
Confidence filled Neville's heart from defeating one.
With this sword, he could fight Basilisks.
He could kill those monsters.
Riding that momentum to take on a second, a green flash flew in.
The Killing Curse Quirrell had fired.
Neville instinctively dodged it and rolled across the ground.
"I underestimated you... I never thought during those times that you'd become strong enough to kill Basilisks. Basilisks are precious forces we'll need going forward... I can't let you do as you please any longer."
Quirrell bared his hostility and pointed his wand at Neville.
This was quite a bad situation.
However sharp, a sword was a sword.
It couldn't function without closing distance, and the range difference against a wand-wielder was hopeless.
But Fred and George interposed themselves between Neville and Quirrell.
"Hey George, our hero seems to be without a wand."
"Ah Fred, this is troubling indeed. At this rate we have no choice but to flee home."
The twins laughed heartily while exchanging jokes.
Their strength was being able to joke even at times like this.
Of course, they didn't actually have that much leisure, nor were they fools who couldn't see the situation.
But... no, precisely because of that, they laughed.
Precisely because it was such a time, they laughed defiantly, like jesters.
"Accio!"
Fred summoned the wand and tossed it to Neville.
Accio was convenient at times like this.
Neville thanked them and immediately tried to join the battle, but the twins blocked him.
"Wrong, wrong, your battlefield isn't here."
"That's right, heroes have appropriate stages for them."
The twins grinned and gestured outside.
Your battlefield isn't here.
Where you should fight is that Durmstrang... where the Golden Tyrant resides.
"B-but..."
"Now now, say no more, Neville."
"That's right, we know properly. You've been looking like you wanted to go outside this whole time, right?"
Hearing those words, Neville was surprised by the Weasley twins' breadth of vision.
Noticing his state in the midst of that battle was no ordinary feat.
Proof they'd been observing the entire battlefield well.
Even now they were pulling off the slight feat of conversing while watching Quirrell's movements.
"T-true, I did think someone should go strike her down. But... if so, surely you two are more suitable than me."
"..."
Someone had to go defeat Mirabelle.
That was fact.
But even saying "defeat," the opponent was that Mirabelle Beresford.
Then without appropriate skill, it wouldn't even be a fight.
Considering that, Neville thought these twin geniuses were more suitable than himself.
But Fred and George shook their heads.
"We won't do."
"Eh?"
"No, not just us—probably no one but you will do."
Fred spoke as if frustrated while waving his wand.
Sparks flew from the wand's tip, clinging to Quirrell's surroundings.
Magic specialized in hindering opponents' movements, characteristic of the mischievous twins.
"We gave up."
"...Gave up?"
"That's right. When Quirrell urged surrender, everyone but you thought it was over. If we went before that woman like that, we'd be overwhelmed before even fighting."
What was needed to face Mirabelle was strength of heart.
The intimidation she'd possessed from the start now knew no bounds—those with weak hearts would be overwhelmed and kneel just from facing her.
What was needed to fight her was a heart that wouldn't break no matter what.
"So we won't do, we surely can't fight. ...Unfortunately, dealing with the lackeys here is our limit."
"Really, we feel bad about this. Pushing the toughest role on you."
The two defended against Quirrell's magic together while speaking, stopping Quirrell's movements.
Frustration seeped through their words, showing they were angry at their own inadequacy.
"So please, Neville... in our place, go beat the hell out of her. ...Avenge Percy!"
A request not as seniors, but recognizing Neville as a man.
Neville quietly nodded at it, then turned his back without saying anything.
Words weren't what should be exchanged here.
What should be done now: end this battle even one second faster and reduce casualties by even one person.
As Neville ran off, Quirrell tried to chase, but the twins blocked him again.
"I don't understand... unable to even hide your fear, why oppose that person so much? The future that person aims for should benefit you too. Why...?"
"Ha, who knows. We just don't want the shop we finally opened to be destroyed."
"That's right, and without stupid customers to be surprised at our prank products, the fun's cut in half. We'll pass on a world like that."
The world Mirabelle would create might indeed enter the path of progress.
But would there be freedom there?
A world unified by one person's will was tantamount to a prison bound in chains.
Domesticated livestock.
Whether that was right or wrong didn't matter.
Simply, the Weasley twins thought they "didn't want that."
That reason alone was enough to fight.
"Shortsighted children..."
Quirrell muttered as if irritated, and the twins smiled fearlessly.
That's right, they couldn't see ahead.
What they could see was always "now."
And now, if Mirabelle had her way, people close to them, important people, would shed tears. They'd become unhappy.
If silently accepting that was being an adult—
If that was the right path... they were fine being children. Fine taking the wrong path.
The twins smiled at each other and nodded.
Then threw themselves into battle with Quirrell, disappearing into the clamor.
***
In the forest away from the castle, there were two shadows.
One stood, while the other was divided into top and bottom, rolled aside.
Victory was decided. The standing shadow—Dumbledore—looked down at the defeated Grindelwald.
"Ha, haha... I lost again... in the end, I never once defeated you."
"Gellert..."
"Ah... I knew it... I certainly regained my youthful power and transcended human providence... And precisely because of that, I cannot defeat you..."
Grindelwald wasn't human.
He was a vampire semi-immortalized by Mirabelle's power.
But unlike Mirabelle with the Philosopher's Stone embedded, major damage didn't regenerate quickly.
And above all, what was thrust into his heart was fatal.
A stake of white wood... one of the things said since ancient times to kill vampires.
In that momentary crossing, Dumbledore who'd slashed Grindelwald had stolen his wand, transfigured it, and thrust it into his heart.
"I will die soon... therefore, old friend, let me now speak the truth."
"Truth, you say?"
"Yes... what you never asked me when we fought before. That truth you most feared, that made you postpone battle with me."
When Grindelwald was rising to power, Dumbledore kept postponing battle with him.
Even knowing it needlessly increased casualties, even knowing only he could stop him, he didn't fight.
Because he feared Grindelwald.
Because he feared his past sins would be revealed by fighting him.
And that still bound Dumbledore's heart as a wedge tormenting him.
But now, Grindelwald laid hands on that wedge.
"The one who killed your sister... Ariana... it wasn't your spell... It was me... my spell killed your sister."
Once, Dumbledore and Grindelwald had escalated to a duel after a fierce argument.
The massive brawl involving even Dumbledore's brother Aberforth had resulted in killing poor Ariana, definitively shattering their relationship.
Since then, Dumbledore had suffered constantly.
Perhaps he'd killed his sister.
Perhaps the spell he'd fired had dealt death.
He'd feared learning that truth more than anything.
But now, that had been denied by Grindelwald.
"I was afraid. Terrified you'd condemn my sin, I fled in silence. It was all my sin... I'm sorry, Albus..."
Tears overflowed from Grindelwald's eyes as he spoke of his sin.
Everything began with that day's mistake.
If he'd exercised self-control then... if he'd chosen a different path where they joined hands, perhaps this future wouldn't have come.
Regret now, when regret could never be enough.
Dumbledore firmly grasped that Grindelwald's hand.
"...Thank you for telling me... my friend. And forgive me. Because my heart was weak, I caused you the suffering of carrying that secret for so many years."
"Friend... friend you say...! You'll still call me friend, Albus... Even me... even after I became this kind of monster... even after I betrayed you, friend..."
"Of course, Gellert. Of course."
The bond lost that day was now woven anew here.
Perhaps only for the brief time until Grindelwald died.
Others might think it meaningless.
But for the two, it was salvation above all.
"Thank you, Albus... my friend."
Grindelwald spoke with a fulfilled expression.
This body would soon perish, and his soul would surely fall to hell.
But he had no regrets.
Because right now, he was the happiest person there could be.
But before perishing, there was something he absolutely had to convey.
Grindelwald squeezed out his last strength and spoke.
"Be careful, Albus... Beresford is a terrifying woman. She chooses no means for victory... she'll coldly discard family, acquaintances, even loyal subordinates."
Having accompanied Mirabelle, he'd witnessed it repeatedly.
That woman choosing no means, mercilessly killing those who opposed her.
Not looking at the casualties born in the process, even trying to let her own family die.
No—it even seemed she'd deliberately maneuvered Voldemort to move that way.
"She needs no one... loves nothing. Though she speaks of ruling the wizarding world, even the wizarding world doesn't matter to her. Even if turned into a wasteland where not a single blade of grass grows, that woman wouldn't feel even the slightest sadness."
Ruling the wizarding world... even this was questionable.
Entrusting it to that woman might indeed bring peace for a while.
But what she desired was a "world of only the excellent."
And that standard was decided completely by Mirabelle's arbitrary judgment and prejudice alone.
For now, fine. There were some she considered excellent by her standards.
But that ever-growing monster would someday see everything besides herself as inferior.
She'd find value in nothing.
That might be hundreds of years away, or thousands of years or more.
But when that happened, her destroying the wizarding world like breaking a toy wasn't an impossible story.
And above all, she had no heart that would hesitate to destroy the wizarding world!
Something called brakes didn't exist in Mirabelle Beresford!
"Now more than ever, the wizarding world needs you, Albus...! There's nowhere left to run... now is the time to face her."
Always, he'd kept running.
Running from responsibilities to fulfill, he'd let Ariana die.
Running from his sins, he'd allowed Grindelwald's rise.
He'd become Hogwarts Headmaster to run from power.
Aware he was weak to power, he'd feared another tragedy like that one.
Therefore, a man like Cornelius Fudge took the Minister's seat, which permitted Voldemort's actions.
Even birthing the calamity called Mirabelle Beresford.
All were mistakes that occurred because Dumbledore ran.
"Indeed... I shall remember."
There was nowhere left to run.
He must rise now.
Satisfied with Dumbledore's answer, Grindelwald smiled peacefully and offered his wand.
"The wand's allegiance is given to the victor. It seems my wand wants to go to you too. Take it with you... in place of me, who will rot here..."
"Ah... let us fight together, Gellert."
He received the offered wand and firmly clasped hands.
That was the last.
Grindelwald's body turned to ash and crumbled away.
But only the grasped arm remained, determined not to release until the very end.
"Farewell, Albus... don't lose..."
Eventually everything but the arm crumbled, and finally the remaining arm also turned to ash.
Gripping the ash remaining in his hand, Dumbledore bit his lip.
No time for mourning. He knew that.
This body wasn't granted time for lamentation.
Firmly gripping the entrusted wand, Dumbledore stood before his friend's remains.
Painful that there wasn't even time for burial, but the crisis was happening now.
Then he must go. With this wand his friend entrusted to him.
The time to return to the past was over. Standing there wasn't young Albus.
Here now was a cunning wizard who'd lived long years...
—Yes, because he was Albus Dumbledore.
***
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