Godric's Hollow.
An old man and a young man walked side by side.
"How should I address you, John, or… Yorl?"
Like an old friend returning after many years, Dumbledore stepped once more into this place of pain.
He should have found peace, yet John would not allow him that.
"That is your choice," John said calmly as he stepped into the graveyard where the three of them had once adventured, then stopped. "Use the destiny you favor most to find the name you need."
"Dumbledore, what you once avoided, what filled you with guilt."
Blooming white flowers had already covered the entire gravestone. John slowly crouched down and brushed them aside with his hand.
The wreath beneath the gravestone had already grown into a whole patch.
"How long has it been since you last came back?"
Hearing this question, Dumbledore's gaze grew distant as he murmured, "A long time."
"You should have noticed. Your avoidance has made you lose once again."
John's eyes were gentle as he stood up again and extended his left hand.
The sealed earth split apart.
The coffin, lifted by blooming white flowers, slowly rose upward.
"I don't understand," Dumbledore said, his eyes never leaving it for even a moment as the white coffin ascended. "Why are you doing this?"
"And how did you do it?"
Dumbledore's expression was complicated, but after John mentioned equivalent exchange, he understood that he could not refuse.
In fact, he was willing to beg, to plead with the boy who had touched the forbidden.
Beneath this coffin lay the guilt that had followed Dumbledore for his entire life.
A single moment of turning away from his true heart, a single moment of shirking responsibility.
It had caused the one he loved most to fall into eternal sleep.
He never learned who was responsible for that accident.
But from that moment on, his heart was never whole again.
Saint Dumbledore, Dumbledore who loved all people, had never been a good brother.
"How did you do it?"
Hearing the question, John shook his head with a faint laugh.
"Dumbledore, magic is like alchemy. It always requires a price."
He looked straight into Dumbledore's eyes, his expression cold. "You are wondering what kind of forbidden magic that Slytherin has used this time."
"Yes, that is what I was thinking," Dumbledore sighed and admitted honestly. "You have always surprised me, and you have always been able to see through my thoughts."
Seeing him admit it, John spoke in an extremely indifferent tone. "My soul, great Dumbledore."
"Your soul?"
"Yes, my soul." John ran his finger across his chest and bared his teeth in a faint smile. "There is a piece missing here."
"If you have read Secrets of the Darkest Art, you would understand that the creation of a Horcrux requires the sacrifice of the soul."
"Even for me, bringing someone back from the dead is not a simple matter."
"But Voldemort gave me a reminder. A method to keep someone alive even after the destruction of the body."
Under Dumbledore's shaken gaze, John spoke with remarkable ease. "So I split my soul and made a Horcrux for her."
"My soul is no longer whole, Dumbledore."
His words struck like thunder.
Dumbledore took two steps back, murmuring, "Why, why would you divide your own soul, John?"
"Perhaps it was that flower, or perhaps it was her chaotic yet sincere kindness, willing to become my eyes," John said. "Equivalent exchange. I made a deal with her."
"Now…"
The coffin slowly opened.
Inside, the girl in the bloom of youth had already become bones.
Yet that pure, flawless white flower still remained.
John lifted the flower and murmured, "Ironic, isn't it? The purest flower, nurtured by the most evil dark magic."
"No," Dumbledore shook his head and said guiltily, "that flower is pure and flawless."
A willing sacrifice.
John, who understood soul magic better than anyone, knew the consequences of a damaged soul, yet his method was different from Voldemort, who had also created Horcruxes.
Voldemort took the lives of others to create his Horcruxes.
John chose to divide his own soul, using it to make a Horcrux for Ariana Dumbledore.
"Do you still remember Tom's spell?" John said to himself. "The blood of the enemy, the bone of the father, the flesh of the servant."
"But Ariana was different."
"She bore no hatred toward anyone."
"Even at the moment of her death, what she did was still to love you, to love…"
"The brothers who killed her."
John took out a golden scale from his small bag and set it down.
"Then we'll use a different kind of magic."
He looked up at Dumbledore, whose face was already streaked with tears, and raised his hand.
A tear clinging to Dumbledore's beard lifted and flew into John's palm.
The tear fell onto one side of the golden scale, tilting it.
"Guilt."
A moving portrait forcibly taken from the Hog's Head.
"Regret."
John pointed to his head and slowly drew out a strand of silvery memory.
"Attachment."
The three items were placed onto the scale. Then John set the white flower on the other side.
The already tilted scale displayed a wondrous sight.
The weight of a single flower began to sway against the side holding the three items.
John watched silently until the scale stopped moving, the two sides perfectly balanced.
Taking out the wand that symbolized resurrection, John held it level and uttered ancient, obscure sounds.
The golden wand gradually melted, its molten gold flowing into the coffin.
A miraculous scene unfolded.
The withered bones rapidly dissolved, merging with the wand.
John took out a bottle, opened it, and poured the soil inside into the coffin.
"Soil of one's birthplace."
He then plucked another flower from the white blossoms surrounding the grave and tossed it in.
"Flower of one's final resting place."
A body identical to Ariana's appeared within the coffin.
This had originally been the ritual and preparation used by Herpo the Foul for resurrection, but it had been taken by John.
It saved him the trouble of devising another method.
"And finally," John said as he looked at Ariana's body. He picked up the white flower that served as the Horcrux and gently blew on it, "the soul."
The white flower turned into countless petals and drifted toward Ariana.
After a long silence.
The girl's eyelashes trembled slightly.
Under the glow of the setting sun, she opened eyes as blue as the sky.
After such a long passage of time.
Nearly a century of regret.
Even the greatest wizard could no longer restrain his emotions.
Dumbledore's body trembled. His aged eyes were clouded with tears, unable to clearly see the girl's expression.
But he knew that his sister had returned.
The regret and guilt of a century burst forth all at once.
Like an old man who had lost all restraint, he wept uncontrollably.
After loving the world for so long, Dumbledore finally allowed himself to be unrestrained for the sake of his family.
The newly awakened Ariana looked curiously at the old man.
Then, she saw the boy.
Just like before, she reached out her hand.
John paused for a moment, then handed his wand to her for her to hold.
"Good afternoon, Ariana."
Ariana seemed different. Gathering her courage, she said, "Good afternoon, Yorl."
The orange glow of dusk fell across John's profile.
"We should get to know each other again," John said with a smile, extending his hand. "John Wick. Hello, Ariana."
Ariana's life had halted at six, and her existence had ended at fourteen.
At one hundred and twelve, she was reborn.
John turned his head, and what entered his sight was deep crimson and blue.
Just like in that empty safehouse, the two of them leaned against each other, relying on one another.
Nagini released Credence's hand and ran toward John, pulling him into an embrace.
"What a… gentle king."
Nagini's tears fell onto John's shoulder.
Her voice was filled with heartache. "Are you tired, my king?"
Three turns of time, a king who had calculated everything.
Rest in my arms for a while, and sleep lightly.
"You're too tired."
"In that case… perhaps I am."
John smiled faintly.
With that reminder, he suddenly felt an overwhelming heaviness crash down on him.
John had no sister.
Yet from Nagini, he felt a kind of care different from a mother's love.
He could let everything go.
And fall asleep in peace.
Dumbledore?
Who cared? That old rogue could cry and make a scene all he liked. It had nothing to do with him.
His gaze passed over Nagini and settled on Credence.
In a tone that felt familiar to Credence, he said, "Credence, it seems I'm a little late."
"Perhaps I should call you Dumbledore."
"Haha, three Dumbledores."
"Dumbledore and Dumbledore… it's hard to tell them apart…"
He muttered as his eyes slowly closed, leaning against Nagini's embrace.
Credence slowly dropped to one knee and spoke with utmost devotion to the king who murmured in his sleep, "Yes, I have found my origins…"
"My king, please allow me to follow you. This time, I am strong enough."
He lowered his head, the same head he had never bowed while standing beside Gellert Grindelwald, beneath the golden light of dusk.
Dumbledore, Dumbledore, Dumbledore.
One had found peace by mending regret, one had found faith upon discovering his place, and one, reborn, clung to his newfound bond.
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