Published at 27th of May 2024 12:13 am

Chapter 202: Pricey Remembrance

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27 March 1994, Peak District, Manchester

Albus Dumbledore walked through the greenery that surrounded him, the lush landscape of the Peak District unfolding before his eyes like a tapestry of vibrant hues. The serene beauty of the English countryside was a stark contrast to the bustling streets of Manchester, just a stone's throw away.

From the muggle side, this place was a haven of natural splendor; rolling hills blanketed in a patchwork of emerald and jade, dotted with wildflowers that danced in the gentle breeze. Ancient oaks stood tall and proud, their branches weaving a canopy above, filtering sunbeams that played hide and seek on the forest floor. The air was fresh, filled with the earthy scent of damp moss and the distant sound of a babbling brook. Dumbledore's footsteps were soft on the well-trodden path, a solitary figure amidst the vast expanse of tranquil wilderness.

As he ventured deeper, the scenery began to subtly shift, signalling the threshold to the magical portion of the area. There were many enchantments to prevent muggles from accidentally stumbling into the other side, which held, in Albus' honest opinion, the most beautiful place in the British Isles.

With a step, the wards recognized him immediately, and let him through. Immediately, the landscape took on an otherworldly quality. The trees were taller, their leaves shimmering with a silvery glow, casting an ethereal light on the path below. Exotic plants, unknown to the muggle world, flourished here; luminous flowers that opened only under moonlight, and vines that hummed softly in the presence of magic. The air was alive with the sounds of creatures both seen and unseen.

This was one of Albus' greatest treasures, the single greatest concentration of magical creatures and plants, in Britain, maybe even Europe, and it was completely under his control. No one alive even knew it existed anymore. Albus had made sure that the people who were aware of it would suffer a few accidents, and discreetly removing it from the Ministry's registry during the war with Grindelwald got people to forget about it in time. Adding in a few compulsions on the muggles to change the area's name, the entire place easily became untraceable even if someone read about it somewhere. Descendants of the druids that once lived in this place could stumble into a reference to the location somehow.

This place was the source of most of Dumbledore's wealth, in the form of Alchemical regents. It cost him nothing to create any alchemical elixir, since all the ingredients were very easily accessible, elixirs which he sold discreetly for a small fortune. Adding in the fact that it was an easy place to get materials for Hogwarts' herbology and potion classes, this venture alone was one of the headmaster's most profitable.

Deciding not to distract himself from his goal, Albus walked towards the fog in the distance, his steps measured and deliberate. The mist was thick, swirling around him like a living entity, its tendrils curling and unfurling with an ethereal grace. Magic was often wild and chaotic in this place, like a cauldron filled with too many ingredients, and it showed in how the environment behaved.

Slowly, the outline of a lake emerged from the mist, its waters still and serene, reflecting the soft grey light of the obscured sky. The lake was akin to a mirror of the sky, its surface undisturbed by wind or wave. Dumbledore stood at its edge, his eyes reflecting the deep calm of the water. With a practised flick of his wand, he summoned a boat from the depths. It rose gracefully, water cascading off its aged wood, yet the surface of the lake was still unbroken.

He stepped into the boat, which moved of its own accord, gliding effortlessly across the lake, cutting through the water with barely a ripple. The mist seemed to part before him, revealing the path forward, yet clinging to the boat like a shroud.

He had never gotten used to this place, the mythical Isle of the Blessed, one of the most revered locations for druids, often thought to be lost. In a way it was, it belonged to Albus now. As if summoned by his thoughts, the island materialized from the fog, the air around the isle shimmering with magic. Magic that Albus perverted in a way.

It wasn't his proudest action, a moment of weakness in his youth when he craved power and respect like a starved man. He had blindly followed the Light back then, without a single moment of hesitation. Yet, he had learned after decades of experience to trust it, but not follow it blindly. It was hard to resist at times, but the Light obviously had ambitions of its own, separate from Albus'.

Still, with a wave of his wand, the wards parted, showing ruined structures, taken over by countless magical flora after centuries of abandonment, yet the magic of this place still remembered the countless rituals that it witnessed.

As Dumbledore arrived at the shore of the isle, he took a deep breath and walked decisively towards the middle of the island. He ignored the ancient ruins that dotted the landscape and the wild, overgrown plants that clung to the ruins and carpeted the ground.

As he moved deeper into the island, the landscape subtly changed. The dense foliage began to thin, giving way to a small clearing. In the heart of this clearing stood a humble dwelling, a stark contrast to the surrounding ruins. It was a modest hovel, seemingly cobbled together from the natural materials of the island itself. The house was an eclectic mix of rough-hewn timber and stone, with patches of living greenery woven into its structure, as if the house itself were a part of the island's flora. The roof was thatched with long, water-reed, providing natural insulation and blending seamlessly with the environment.

The walls of the house bore the signs of both hand craftsmanship and magical transfiguration. Stones meticulously fitted together without mortar, intertwined with branches that twisted and turned in natural, yet unnaturally precise patterns, suggesting the intervention of a skilled wizard.

Of course, he knew who was there, and he was a skilled wizard indeed. Albus approached the door, raised his hand and knocked gently. He couldn't help but feel anxious slightly, about the response, knowing who was on the other side.

The door opened, revealing a familiar face, "Well, you sure took your time, Albus."

There, looking back at him, was a face that he wanted to forget about. Armando Dippet, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts, looked older than any wizard had a right to be. If it wasn't for the Isle, the man would have probably died of old age, instead of being bound to this place.

"I'm sorry, I never visited you…"

Albus' predecessor chuckled bitterly, "One would think you were ashamed of what you've subjected me to…"

"I am. I have many regrets. This is, without a doubt, one of them."

"Don't give me that Dragon Dung, Albus. I know you. You would have gotten rid of me eventually, one way or another. This was just one of your cruellest ones yet…"

Albus had to admit that the man was right. He wanted to be the headmaster of Hogwarts, it was necessary to accomplish his goals, to finally shape the magical world into the utopia it could be. Unfortunately, Dippet had no intention of retiring anytime soon, something that simply grated the Champion of Light. He had just defeated Grindelwald by completely giving in to the Light for the duration of the duel. Confidant in his ally, he followed its instructions to the letter. He pretended to have found the Isle of the Blessed, a mythical area thought to be lost to time and took the man there.

He prepared a ritual given to him by the Light, one that he did not fully understand. He brought the man to the middle of the island and performed it. It was only after that he understood what he had done.

The ritual was complex, but as its basis, it was a contract. Albus would be given ownership over the Isles and its surroundings, and the wards would belong to him, but in exchange, the Isle would take a guardian, who would serve as its protector, unable to leave, unable to interact with the outside world, alone in an empty island, until Dumbledore himself either gave up on the wards or perished.

Unknowingly, with his blind trust, he had sacrificed the life of a good man, perhaps even his death, for a piece of land. And he couldn't even take it back without losing his greatest asset to date. He had learned to not follow the Light blindly then, that it could burn and blind, just as it could illuminate and guide.

There was still something that Albus did not understand, "I would have thought that you would be angry at me."

"I learned a very long time ago, in my isolation, just how unproductive anger could be. Oh, don't get me wrong, I loathe you with all my being, but I know there's very little I can do about it, so why bother?"

Well, that was an unexpected yet welcoming surprise. When Dippet found out what had happened to him, he made some serious threats. He expected to come to this place expecting some kind of resistance.

Still, that answer did strike him speechless enough that Dippet continued the conversation, "So, tell me, Albus, why are you here? And don't lie to me and say that you wanted to speak with me. You want something."

"Yes, I do," Dumbledore admitted, "There was an artefact in your possession. You told me about it long ago. I have searched your belongings, even your vault at Gringotts, yet I couldn't find it."

"What could it be, I wonder?" the former headmaster pondered, "Ah yes, I remember. One of my most precious treasures, one of the last working fey artefacts. And with Beltane being so close… Oh, you're up to something, aren't you?"

"Just tell me where the artefact is," Dumbledore asked with exasperation.

"Let me have my fun. It's not every day that I entertain company. Besides, I can guess what you want to do with it anyway… This will not end well for you, or anyone for that matter."

"I did not come here for you to lecture me!"

The former headmaster grinned, "And yet, even after all these years, you still have much to learn. What kind of educator would I be if I didn't try to teach you? Let's ignore what you have done to my school in your misguided idea of safety and that foolish dream of yours. Instead, let us focus on something recent, the mess with the Potter boy for example. How badly do you think you handled that?"

"How do you even know about it?"

"You may have bound me to this place, but it still has some perks. Let's just say that I had a long time to hone my scrying… It's probably the main reason why I haven't gone mad. But that's beside the point. Your enmity against the boy makes you look childish, and incompetent, especially since the boy is winning. That's not mentioning what happened with the Longbottom boy. I have to say that it is amusing to see you lose to a child. Then again, Harry Potter is not an ordinary child."

Albus gritted his teeth in frustration, "What do you know?"

"I know many things, but why should I tell you anything, when you will not listen to it anyway…"

"I can make you talk…"

The former headmaster shrugged, "You probably could. You and your precious Light could make me suffer for another eternity. You know, I saw this inflexibility in you the moment I saw you. I didn't even want to hire you. It was a letter from Flamel that made me change my mind and give you a chance. He said that you were a champion of Light that could change the world, break the cycle, and stop the constant wars. What a fucking joke. My biggest regret is that I didn't burn that cursed thing the moment I saw it."

"I stopped the war… I stopped Grindelwald!"

"Then tell me, Albus, does the magical world look like your promised Utopia? You've been at it for half a century, with ultimate power at your fingertips. Tell me, Albus Dumbledore, is the world better in any way than it was when you started?"

Dumbledore stood silent, refusing to answer, "I will change things…"

"I don't care anymore. Just leave."

"Not without what I came here for."

Dippet gave his successor an unreadable look, "Are you set on this course of actions, Albus? This will not end well for you; I can tell you that."

"I am."

"Then I suppose it's time I parted with this," Dippet waved his hand and a golden disk appeared in his hand. Golden runes glowed all over it, pulsing magic periodically, "Albus, be very careful, just like the Fey were before they left this plane, their magic is just as traitorous. Using it comes with a price, one that you might not be prepared to pay."

"All this time, you had it on you?"

"Yes. I was planning to study it, the day you betrayed me. It's not like it did me any good here, did it? And now you have it. I did my duty, I tried to warn you. Whatever happens next, Albus is on your head. Farewell, Albus…"

Dumbledore did not want to hear the man prattle along once more. He turned back from the hovel and rested. He had gotten exactly what he came for. The third task was now ready. This would be his crowning moment, his greatest victory. His dream was so close, that he could almost taste it, and nothing would stop him from realizing it.

AN: I'm not sure about this chapter, to be honest. I might rewrite it later since it feels a little off for some reason. I don't know if I managed to present the whole thing as I wanted to. As usual, please let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions.

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