"There's… another way?" Jon asked softly, looking at Dumbledore in confusion.
He couldn't understand it. If there really had been another solution, why hadn't Dumbledore told him sooner?
"Gellert told me long ago… after you went to see him a few months back…" Albus Dumbledore's voice was calm—unnaturally so. "The method by which a Horcrux splits the soul… is, at its core, the act of killing a target, then using the victim's soul to tear one's own soul apart."
"When any living being is killed, its soul becomes extremely fragile and decays at a terrifying speed. Under normal circumstances, such a soul cannot seriously harm a cursed soul like a Blood Curse soul." A trace of confidence appeared at the corner of Dumbledore's mouth. "But if the one who is killed is powerful enough—and possesses the conscious will to resist the Blood Curse soul—then that is sufficient."
Jon, who had been listening intently, suddenly went pale. He looked up at Dumbledore in disbelief.
"Professor… that's impossible…"
"To be honest, I struggled with this decision for a very long time," Dumbledore said gently. "I kept hoping that your method might succeed—that Miss Greengrass could be saved—so that I wouldn't have to intervene myself."
"But now it's clear that you've failed. And so… in my personal opinion, to trade an old, exhausted life like mine for the fresh life of a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old girl would be a terrible bargain, even for Death itself."
"No!" Jon shouted, his voice breaking. "Professor… you can't do this…"
"I'm afraid…" Dumbledore shook his head. "Jon, this time, I cannot grant you what you want."
Almost the instant his words fell, several thick, rigid vines burst from the walls of the Room of Requirement, binding Jon tightly against them. He couldn't move at all.
...
Jon could barely breathe.
But the vine around his neck soon loosened, allowing him to draw air again.
"Professor…" His voice trembled, on the verge of tears. "We can't trade one life for another…"
"No, Jon. You're still young—you don't understand," Dumbledore said, waving a hand lightly. "For old men like me, already standing at the end of our road, death is not such a terrible thing. In a sense, it is a release."
"Many years ago, when the tragedy with Ariana occurred, I thought deeply about death," Dumbledore said calmly. "But I knew I had to stop Gellert—that was my responsibility. After I defeated him, the magical world lay in ruins and needed my help. And once the Ministry recovered, Tom's influence began to grow again. I felt it was my duty to stop him as well."
"My entire life has been spent shouldering one responsibility after another. I've never lived a single day for myself." A faint smile appeared on his lips. "So for me, death is true freedom. Because what I truly wish for… is to finally rest, and be with my parents—be with my sister."
"But you still have responsibilities!" Jon cried out. "Voldemort is still alive… his power keeps growing…"
"So I leave it to you," Dumbledore said lightly. "Hogwarts chose you. You possess talent I can't match, exceptional intelligence, and a noble heart. In many ways, you're already better than I ever was—and destined to do better still. Don't tell me you can't do it. "If you can't even handle Tom, I'd be very, very disappointed."
"Professor… Professor Dumbledore… please…"
Jon's voice grew weaker as the vine around his neck tightened once more.
"The truth is…" Dumbledore said quietly, "what truly sealed my decision was what Aberforth wrote in his letter half an hour ago. He told me Miss Greengrass bears a resemblance to Ariana… and he was right."
...
Dumbledore no longer paid Jon any attention. He walked over to Astoria and gently took the locket from her hand.
He wiped it clean with the edge of his robe, then placed it back into her palm.
The red glow surrounding Astoria slowly faded.
At the same time, her face turned pale once more. Like an Animagus transformation, her features began to distort, her body growing longer and more slender.
As Albus Dumbledore's spell dissipated, the Blood Curse soul reclaimed control of her body.
"No—" Jon screamed silently, but no sound came out.
A massive serpent, over ten feet long, appeared before him, its cold gaze fixed on the old wizard.
Dumbledore smiled and closed his eyes.
The serpent opened its bloody jaws and lunged—
Blood spilled from Dumbledore's neck as his body fell backward like a broken doll.
He was already dead.
...
At the same moment, the serpent writhed on the floor in agony.
An invisible force was crushing it down.
Astoria's body began to slowly return to normal, while the locket in her hand became shrouded in a growing black light.
Jon knew it clearly—it was Dumbledore's soul. He was helping Astoria drive the Blood Curse soul into the Horcrux.
The Blood Curse soul weakened at a speed visible to the naked eye. Compared to Albus Dumbledore's soul, it was insignificant.
The locket was soon completely filled with the Blood Curse soul. On Astoria's body, there wasn't even the faintest trace of the monster left.
Everything was so simple—so effortless.
And yet—
Tears streamed down Jon's face.
The vines binding him had disappeared. That meant only one thing.
Albus Dumbledore had truly left him.
Jon rushed to Astoria's side and snatched the Horcrux from her hand.
He could clearly feel the immense soul power inside it, and his heart was filled with rage and hatred.
He threw the Horcrux—now packed with the Blood Curse soul—onto the floor, raised his wand, and roared:
"Avada Kedavra!"
...
The Horcrux was destroyed.
The Blood Curse was broken.
Astoria Greengrass lay unconscious on the floor, her breathing faint—but she was alive. More than that, she was healthy—healthier than she had ever been before.
But Headmaster Dumbledore was nothing more than a cold, lifeless body.
Jon sobbed as he held Dumbledore's corpse.
He carefully straightened the half-moon spectacles on that hooked nose, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, and lowered his head to stare at that wise, aged face—forcing himself to accept the unbearable truth.
Suddenly, his sobbing stopped.
Trembling, he lifted his head.
He gently laid Dumbledore's body down and stood up.
It wasn't over yet.
Because he had just heard it—a voice echoing within his mind, the voice of his "sixth sense."
The effects of Felix Felicis were not yet over.