Professor Sanguini cast the Apparition spell on all of us, transporting our group to just outside Hogwarts. The buildings and campus were warded against Apparition magic, but we could still get within a mile of it. With Hagrid carrying Hermione, the walk passed quickly, though everyone remained deathly silent.

  Once inside Hogwarts, Hagrid carried the unconscious Hermione to Madam Pomfrey for a check-up. With a flick of Sanguini's wand, a spiral staircase appeared where a statue had once stood. At his signal, I climbed the stairs leading up to Dumbledore's office.

  Now, within the domain of the man celebrated as the hero of the First Wizarding War, I observed the powerful magical artifacts he kept well hidden. Two of them, in particular, piqued my interest—items that had once belonged to me...

  "I assume I have the pleasure of meeting Benjamin Diggory," announced an aged voice. I hadn’t noticed his presence—an impressive feat, even for a powerful wizard. The old man’s long white beard reached down to his waist, lending him an appearance of age beyond even that of most magical folk, who already age slower than Muggles.

  Thinking, I shrugged. "As much as he ever has and ever will exist."

  "Then... who is it you truly are? Be warned, lies hold no power here." Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened, perhaps fiercer than before, as he gazed at me. The man who had seemed jolly moments ago transformed in an instant. One could almost question if the two were even the same person after witnessing both sides.

  Meeting his intense gaze with my own, I let my eyes turn silver as I answered, "I am the end of all things, the great equalizer, and deliverer of souls. I am the one... you call Death."

  Caw!" whines a bird in the corner, one I’d already recognized as a Phoenix. A magical, immortal bird of fire and rebirth, it dies in a blaze of flame only to be reborn from the ashes—a being of pure life and fire, one of my sister’s creations meant as a mockery of my purpose.

  Whining again, Dumbledore stands from his chair. "What is it, Fawkes?" he asks.

  "It’s a being of life, and my presence disturbs him," I add.

  Shaking his head, Dumbledore replies in disbelief, "That... cannot be."

  "I tell no lies," I explain.

  At that moment, Professor Sanguini enters the room. "He speaks the truth," he insists.

  "Professor, if he is Volde—" Dumbledore begins, his voice hesitant.

  "I stared into his eyes and knew him for who and what he is! There is no faking that to a true vampire," Sanguini assures, his tone unwavering.

  Turning to me, Dumbledore asks, "If you are who and what you say you are, then prove it."

  "Tch!" I click my tongue and roll my eyes. "You think I didn’t come here trying to hide what I am? I am limited by this human form. There’s little I can do that will prove beyond a doubt that I am Death."

  "Then you best try," the aged wizard demands, his voice firm and unyielding.

  Letting my eyes glow with the power to glimpse the names and lifespans of others, I direct my gaze at Dumbledore. In that brief moment, his essence reveals itself to me—Albus Dumbledore. The old wizard shivered, visibly unsettled by what he felt.

  "What… was that?" he asks, his voice tinged with apprehension.

  "I used my power as Death to see your true name," I explain.

  "And?"

  "You are Albus Dumbledore," I reply, watching his expression carefully.

  He raises an eyebrow. "How does this prove who you are?"

  "It doesn’t," I admit. "But before going any further in this conversation, I needed to know for certain that you are who you claim to be."

  With a flick of my hand, I summon a hidden object from within Dumbledore's office. "This was made from a piece of myself, and I will be taking it back!" I exclaim, holding up the Cloak of Invisibility.

  Dumbledore’s eyes widen slightly, but he quickly regains his composure. "I can't let you do that," he says, his voice measured. "I received it from a friend and am holding it for a greater purpose yet to come."

  A soft pecking at the window draws our attention. Nyx and Fidell have somehow perched themselves on the outer ledge, both staring at us through the glass.

  “Mrowl,” Nyx whines, as if saying, “Let us in!”

  Dumbledore is rushed by the two critters as soon as he opens the window.

  I pet Nyx as Fidell caws at Fawkes, attempting to assert dominance. The two flap their wings at each other, eventually settling into a silent agreement—a truce of mutual destruction and restrained tension.

  “Let me see the Elder Wand, and I will prove I made it,” I say to Dumbledore.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he hands me the wand. “As you know, only a wand’s original enchanter can modify the enchantment without breaking it?” he asks, his voice guarded.

  “Yes, that is true,” Dumbledore nods.

  In a swift motion, I etch a final rune onto the wand’s handle. “This will prevent others from using the wand while you live. And when you die, it will turn to ash,” I explain, watching his reaction.

  Dumbledore’s gaze sharpens as he questions, “Why would you do that?”

  "Because this wand has brought me great shame. I would prefer that no more lives be wrecked by it!"

  "Caw!!!" Fawkes cries indignantly as Nyx helps herself to some of the nuts in Dumbledore's bowl. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore refills the bowl, and Fawkes makes sure to eat his fill. Funny how a creature is picky about something until another wants it.

  "This proves only that you created the wand and not that you are Death," Dumbledore adds.

  "Then how about that… Harry Potter is dead," I add with some frustration.

  "… Harry Potter is very much alive," Dumbledore replies skeptically.

  "That's a lie… I took his soul to the other side. Personally!" I call his bluff.

  "… Then who have we been protecting in secrecy?" Dumbledore asks, his voice edged with uncertainty.

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  "… Bugger!" I shout.

  "What?" Dumbledore’s voice falters, barely a whisper.

  "It's Voldemort!" I exclaim, the realization settling over both of us like a dark fog.

  Dumbledore mutters, "That's not…"

  "Don't you see?" I press. "I felt his death, and I took his soul to the other side after Harry died, but his body is still alive—possessed by the Dark Lord! A body is like a machine; it can be repaired. You fools have been protecting the very villain you've meant to destroy."

  Dumbledore’s face pales as he flicks his wand, his expression turning increasingly grim.

  "What is it?" I ask, sensing his dread.

  "The people I left to watch Harry… they're not responding to my summons."

  "After his pet Dementor returned and reported I am Death, I would assume he's figured out why I am here and knows I've discovered whose body he's taken."

  "What are the names of those you left to supervise him?" I ask, keeping my tone steady.

  "Vere Moderna, Jane Atsa, and several others," Dumbledore replies, the weight of his words heavy in the room.

  I shake my head slowly. "They are all dead. Deceased within the last 30 minutes."

  "Sod it all," Dumbledore curses, his usually composed face etched with a rare, fierce anger.

  Leaving Dumbledore’s office, I allowed the old wizard a moment to gather himself. He’d finally handed over the Invisibility Cloak with solemn assurance that he would find Voldemort. Ultimately, I’d needed to summon his sister’s soul itself to prove beyond doubt that I was who I claimed to be—Death incarnate. Now, I thought it best to leave him alone with his memories and the unexpected, tearful reunion with his sibling.

  As I stepped away from the office, a sudden force nearly knocked me off my feet. Hermione had thrown herself at me in a full embrace, clinging tightly. "What?" I gasped in surprise.

  "Thank you…" she choked out, her voice thick with tears.

  She had been waiting for me outside Dumbledore’s office, looking small and worn but with a half-eaten chocolate bar clutched in her right hand. Her tear-streaked face lit up when she saw me.

  "I…" Unsure of what to say, I gently patted her head, sensing she needed comfort more than words. "What for?"

  "For saving me from that monster," she whispered, her voice breaking as she fought back more tears.

  “You’re very welcome,” I replied softly.

  "I won't... I won't ever ask you what you are again. I owe you so much," she stammers, her voice barely holding steady.

  A pang of guilt surfaces as I realize how deeply shaken she is, but I know hiding the truth from her would be worse. The genie is out of the bottle, so to speak. Someday, she’ll understand fully, and perhaps she won’t hold it against me—but I would rather she know me now for who I am.

  "I am the end of all things..." I tell her quietly.

  “What?” She questions, taking a moment to wipe away her tears, her expression shifting between confusion and apprehension.

  “I am one of the oldest magical creatures in existence. I am the Primordial incarnation of Death,” I say, letting the weight of the truth settle in the air.

  Her face goes pale as she instinctively steps back, her eyes wide. The realization stings, more deeply than I expected. “I see how it is… I’m just a monster to you now,” I say, my voice laced with hurt and bitterness that surprises even me. This human form seems to make me vulnerable to emotions I once considered trivial and amplify them immensely.

  “No, Ben, wait!” She says quickly, realizing the impact of her reaction, guilt evident in her eyes.

  “You think me a devil with a monkey's paw, don't you?” I ask, my voice holding a hint of accusation.

  She hesitates, then shakes her head. “That's what the story says, but… I know you, and you're nothing like what attacked me. You are… my closest friend.”

  Without a second thought, I reply, “Same.” The word escapes before I can stop it, and at that moment, I’m struck by an undeniable truth. Bound by my nature, I cannot lie. This child—this young, mortal soul—is, indeed, the closest friend I’ve ever had. The realization is both startling and, somehow, grounding.

  Hermione watches me intently, her curiosity pushing aside any lingering fear. I motion for her to sit down on a bench outside Dumbledore’s office, and once we’re settled, I begin, “The Tale of the Three Peverell Brothers and the Deathly Hallows is widely known, but few know the truth. In the tale, it’s said that the brothers were minding their own business, using magic to cross a river, and that angered Death. Supposedly, I appeared before them and gifted each brother an item: a wand, a stone, and a cloak—two of which were traps meant to bring about their downfall.”

  Hermione leans in, intrigued. “So… it didn’t happen that way?”

  I shake my head. “Not quite. The truth is far darker. The Peverell brothers were not innocent travelers. They were deeply ambitious wizards, intent on defying nature itself. The second brother, Cadmus, was an alchemist and had recently lost the woman he loved. In his grief, he convinced his brothers to join him in an experiment to resurrect her. Antioch, the eldest, was an exceptionally powerful caster, and Ignotus, the youngest, a skilled healer. Together, they attempted what should never be attempted: they tried to create a homunculus, a vessel that would house her spirit by blending fragments of animal parts and other magic into something resembling her body.”

  Hermione’s eyes widen, her face a mixture of horror and fascination.

  “They nearly succeeded,” I continue. “They created a creature—a monstrosity that looked like her in form but was wrong, stitched together from the remnants of animals, animated by fragments of dark magic. It was an abomination, a violation of life and death, of nature’s balance. Their act threatened the very fabric of existence.”

  “So… you intervened?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yes. I was permitted to appear because their actions disrupted the natural order to such an extreme degree. The universe would have barely stirred if I had simply ended them then and there, but instead, I gave them a choice—a final bargain. I gave each brother an item tailored to their desires, though each would lead to its own consequences.”

  Hermione waited for me to continue.

  “Their greed could have been apocalyptic if left unchecked,” I continue. “It’s fools like them that created vampirism and other dark paths that plague humanity. But no, I didn’t kill them; I gave them a choice instead.”

  I look at Hermione, seeing her growing understanding mingled with unease, and go on. “Cadmus, the one who had lost his love, wanted nothing more than to bring her back. I told him plainly that I couldn’t truly return her to life. Still, I offered him the Stone of Resurrection, a way to summon her soul from beyond, allowing him to see and speak with her once more. He accepted, though… seeing her without being able to fully reach her eventually led him into despair deeper than death itself. He took his own life not long after. It’s ironic, isn’t it? He wanted to be with her again, and I gave him the means, yet it wasn’t enough. Humans seem perpetually dissatisfied with what they have.”

  Hermione nods solemnly as if weighing that thought.

  “Then there was Antioch, the eldest, whose ambitions lay in power. He asked to become the most powerful wizard in history, but when I told him I couldn’t change his abilities, he instead demanded the most powerful wand that could ever exist. I warned him of the dangers such a weapon would bring, yet he persisted. In the end, I crafted the Elder Wand for him—a conduit of unmatched strength. But with such power, he became consumed by its allure, and it ultimately led to his murder.”

  Hermione’s expression turns contemplative as if piecing together the story she thought she knew with the truth I’m sharing.

  “The youngest brother, Ignotus,” I say, “was different. He had a healer’s nature, but he was also cautious. Unlike his brothers, he asked for a way to hide from me. He feared retribution for what they’d done. And so, he requested a cloak that could make him invisible even to Death. The tale says I gave him a piece of my cloak, but that’s not quite true. What I gave him was part of my aura—a manifestation that cloaked him in such a way that no magic or entity could find him, even me. It’s a strange thing to admit, but when I created that cloak, I gave up a piece of myself, a part of Death’s essence, in doing so.”

  Hermione sits back, letting the story sink in. “So… the Hallows are parts of you?” she whispers.

  I nod. “Only the stone and the cloak carry a piece of what I am, crafted from my essence to honor our deal. The wand… was merely a powerful weapon, nothing more. The world may see them as legendary artifacts, but that wasn’t my intent. These items weren’t meant to shape or influence their lives; they were simply payments, a neutral exchange to leave the natural order untouched. Each was a price paid so that balance could remain as it was, without my interference.”

  "Wow... That's a lot to absorb," Hermione mutters.

  "So, what now?" I ask.

  "Just one question—why?"

  "Why what?" I ask, trying to understand what she means.

  "Why do all this? Why spare them? Why does the fate of humanity matter to you?" she asks, her gaze both curious and searching.

  "Because it is my purpose," I say, letting the words settle. "When I came into existence, I witnessed both the beginning and the end of the universe—and it was beautiful. Its beauty lies in its transience; it has an end. Humanity and the creatures of this world have such remarkable potential, and I am not their enemy. I am part of the balance, serving as I always have. This is my responsibility, one I’ve upheld since the beginning. It’s a purpose I have never—and will never—abandon."

  "What do you get out of it?"

  I cock my head to the side. "Nothing," I reply, genuinely puzzled by the question. Why would I need anything for fulfilling my role?

  Hermione's expression shifts, and a hint of resolve hardens her gaze. "Then I trust you," she says softly, yet with a quiet fervor, "and I will follow you, regardless of where it takes us."

  For a moment, the weight of her words lingers between us, binding our fates in a way even I hadn’t foreseen.

  "What do you get out of it?"