Harry stayed back in the dormitory, still trying to comfort his good friend Ron, who was clearly devastated.
Lupin, meanwhile, returned to his office.
As for Blake, he followed Dumbledore back to the headmaster's office.
No sooner had they stepped inside than Dumbledore reached out, grasping Blake's arm firmly. His expression was serious, almost anxious.
"What price did you pay for that magic you used?" Dumbledore asked.
"Will it cause any side effects?"
Blake felt the strength of the old wizard's hand and was quietly moved. Dumbledore really did care about his wellbeing.
"I did pay a price," Blake admitted, "but not as much as everyone thinks."
With Dumbledore, he could speak the truth.
"I let them believe I paid a heavy price," Blake continued softly, "because I don't want anyone asking me to summon the ghosts of old friends again. Constantly disturbing the dead… that isn't good."
He paused, then sighed.
"And the more I see the deceased, the more painful it is. Because the dead can't come back. Seeing them but not being able to touch them… it only makes the living suffer more. Maybe even go mad. Wasn't the man who took the Resurrection Stone in the story driven mad, after all?"
Dumbledore listened in silence, then nodded heavily.
"You've done so much, Blake. Those who have passed are gone. Only by letting go can we truly move forward."
He paused, then raised an eyebrow. "But… what was this 'not-so-big' price you mentioned?"
Blake looked a little sheepish. From his pocket, he pulled out two raw chickens.
"Probably… a meal?" he offered, shrugging slightly.
Dumbledore blinked at the chickens, clearly taken aback. One of the chicken's legs had even turned grey.
"Well… it only needs the life force of the sacrifice," Blake explained, poking the grey drumstick.
As his finger touched it, the leg crumbled into ash.
"These were fresh," Blake said. "But after the spell, only this chicken leg turned grey because Lily and the others returned quickly."
Dumbledore let out a long sigh of relief.
"No harm to your own body… that's what matters," he murmured. Yet he still couldn't help feeling that Blake was surrounded by a mystery no one could quite pierce. It was hard to believe: magic so sudden, so powerful, learned by no one's teaching.
"Professor, since I'm fine, I'd like to leave now," Blake said gently.
Since there was no real damage to his health, Blake saw no need to visit Dean Bohan. He had something more urgent to do: track down Peter Pettigrew and place some black magic seals on him.
"You… wait," Dumbledore called softly. His gaze fell on the raw chickens in Blake's hand. "It seems you brought a few more chickens?"
"Um… yes…" Blake admitted, looking embarrassed. After all, he'd taken them from the Hogwarts kitchens. Technically, they belonged to the school.
Dumbledore almost laughed, shaking his head.
"It's alright. The school won't go bankrupt over a few chickens. But… could you help me with something?"
Blake's smile faded. His expression turned serious.
"You want me to summon Aunt Ariana, don't you?"
"Yes…" Dumbledore's voice wavered. "I know I should let go… but I still want to tell her… 'I'm sorry.' Only then can I truly move on."
A heavy sadness clouded his face.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Blake said softly. "But I might not be able to do that."
"Huh? Why? Has she been gone too long to summon?" Dumbledore asked, his voice almost desperate.
"No, it's not that," Blake replied. "As long as she died and didn't become a ghost, I could summon her back from the world of the dead."
"Then why not?" Dumbledore pressed.
Blake hesitated, then spoke quietly.
"When I first got this power, the first person I tried to summon was Aunt Ariana. But… no matter how many times I tried, I failed."
"It's as if," Blake said, raising his eyes to meet Dumbledore's, "Aunt Ariana isn't in the world of the dead."
Dumbledore's face froze. Then, for the briefest moment, hope flashed in his eyes—quickly swallowed by shock and fear.
"You mean…?" he whispered.
"There are only a few possibilities," Blake said. "Either she became a ghost and is still wandering the world… or, her soul was completely torn apart by your duel's spell, so she dissipated before entering the world of the dead."
As Blake finished, Dumbledore's hands trembled, gripping his robes. His face twitched, raw panic clear in his eyes—a side Harry had never seen.
After a long silence, Dumbledore exhaled shakily.
"No… it's impossible. That day, though our spells were deadly, none of them should've destroyed her soul."
"Well," Blake added softly, "there is one more possibility, though it seems unlikely."
"And that is?" Dumbledore asked, his voice almost a whisper.
"That Aunt Ariana… didn't die."
As Blake spoke, a notification flashed silently before him:
[Ding! Huge surprise emotion detected!]
[Ding! Congratulations, host, on receiving a diamond treasure chest!]
Blake was briefly delighted. An unexpected reward.
"Are you serious?" Dumbledore's voice cracked. "How likely is that?"
Blake felt Dumbledore's powerful grip tighten around his arm. Without his strengthened body, it might've been painful.
"It depends on what happened that day," Blake said. "If no soul-damaging spell was used… if she died, she would either go to the world of the dead or stay as a ghost."
"And if she became a ghost," Blake reasoned, "she would've come to see you. Ghosts are driven by obsession. She'd want to see you, or Aberforth."
He gave an example: Myrtle, the bathroom ghost, who haunted Olive because of the ridicule that drove her to hide, which led to her death.
"But Ariana never appeared," Blake continued. "So, after ruling out all other possibilities… however incredible it seems, the only thing left must be true."
He looked up at Dumbledore. "Professor, how did you know for sure Aunt Ariana was dead? What happened back then?"
Pain shadowed Dumbledore's face. Remembering those days tore at old wounds.
"After the duel," Dumbledore whispered, "Grindelwald fled. Aberforth and I found Ariana… she had stopped breathing… her body grew cold…"
Dumbledore closed his eyes, tears slipping free, his body trembling as though reliving that morning.
"What happened next?" Blake pressed gently. "It's important."
"Aberforth and I fought. He struck me… then carried Ariana's body away from Godric's Hollow."
"And after?" Blake asked. "You never saw the body again?"
"I followed him," Dumbledore confessed, his voice low. "I was skilled enough that Aberforth didn't notice. I watched him get a coffin… and place Ariana inside."
"So you saw her buried?" Blake asked carefully.
"Yes…" Dumbledore nodded, though his voice trembled.
Blake hesitated, then said, "If that's the case, there's only one way to be sure."
"What way?" Dumbledore asked, still caught between grief and hope.
"Do you remember where Aunt Ariana's grave is?"
"You mean… dig up the grave?" Dumbledore gasped, horrified.
"No, Professor," Blake shook his head. "I don't need to dig. Just take me there, and I can see what's inside without disturbing it."
Blake had his True Eyes. Even without them, he could use alchemy to detect what lay below, like the tools he'd built for the Fourth Calamity.
Dumbledore's eyes suddenly brightened with realization.
"Could it be… Ariana might be your future self, sent back in time?"
Blake nodded. "I suspect that, because I know I'll time travel in the future. Who knows when or where?"
"It's possible!" Dumbledore whispered, hope flaring again.
But after a moment, doubt returned. "But if she's alive… why hasn't she come to see me?"
Blake sighed. "Because until today, you didn't know she might still be alive. To change the past, events must remain consistent."
Like swapping a deer eaten by a wolf with an identical one to keep the timeline stable.
"Before today, the fact that you believed Ariana died couldn't be changed," Blake continued. "She couldn't see you before this moment without rewriting history."
"And after today? That's still unknown."
Dumbledore took a deep breath, his decision clear.
"Fawkes!" he called. His phoenix appeared in a flash of flame.
"You've never been to the grave," Dumbledore told Blake. "So let Fawkes take us."
Blake hesitated, then smiled slightly.
"Maybe… it doesn't need to be so complicated," he said softly.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you have a picture or portrait of Aunt Ariana?" Blake asked.
Dumbledore froze—then understood.
Blake could use his Dimensional Gate: as long as he knew Ariana's name and appearance, he could open a door directly to her side.
If Ariana still lived, somewhere in this timeline… they might find her at last.
=============
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