Voldemort and Grindelwald were dead.
The official narrative, spread around the network, painted a picture of an epic, necessary heroism. Apparently, it was Voldemort who had broken Grindelwald out of Nurmengard, hoping to use the old dark lord's power to finally defeat Albus Dumbledore. Joining forces to battle against the man who was responsible for stopping them.
But Dumbledore, the story went, had been ready. He had seen through their trap and turned it upon them.
The worldwide newspapers called it "The Battle of the Highlands." They described it in ridiculous detail, how the skies over a desolate area of the Scottish coast had burned gold and red, how mountains trembled beneath catastrophic spells, and how, at the end, all three men had fallen. The two dark lords were destroyed by the world's greatest wizard, who gave his life to save Britain, Europe, and the world from their tyranny.
The savior of the light. The martyr of peace. The man who vanquished the shadows one last time.
Harry gagged.
He tossed the paper aside, a grimace twisting his face as it fluttered to the floor. The image of Dumbledore, serene and wise even in death, felt like a personal insult carved onto newsprint. He was offended.
"'The great Albus Dumbledore' my ass," he muttered, the words thick with distaste.
Sure, he was the one who had ordered Evelyn and the others to spread that story. But it really was annoying to see it like that, but something was needed to cover up the incident of what happened, and it tied up loose ends neatly, eliminating all three major figures of the Wizarding World in a single, believable, mostly believable, if tragic, narrative.
The global magical community, from the Ministries to the International Confederation (ICW), was relieved, of course, the real leaders knew the truth, but it's not like the masses needed that.
So a believable cover up was needed, and Harry had just thrown one at them, and well, it was somewhat of a juicy story, wasn't it, 2 dark lords fighting against a light lord, and ultimately ended up as a draw with all of them dead.
The immediate reaction from the international magical community was a collective, terrified sigh of relief. The ICW held an emergency session that lasted forty-eight hours, culminating in a vague, globally broadcast statement praising Dumbledore's "ultimate sacrifice" and declaring peace had returned.
Behind the scenes, the national Ministries were doing their thing, making sure the incident was properly kept quiet.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed, staring at the ceiling of his lavish suite.
"Well… at least he's dead," he murmured to himself with a lazy grin. "Guess that counts for something."
Truthfully, he wasn't as bothered as he thought he'd be. Maybe because the old man was finally gone, or maybe because Harry was alive, and the old man was the one who died.
He had wanted to destroy the man's legacy, but he knew the reputation the man had built wouldn't simply crumble because Harry wished it. Dumbledore had been lucky to die on his feet. Harry really wanted to take everything from him, but he was lucky and his reputation still held, for now, anyway.
The "war" everyone who had known of Voldemorts returned had been whispering about for the past few months had ended before it even began. Voldemort, Grindelwald, and Dumbledore, gone.
Stretching, Harry rose from his chair. After resting properly yesterday, following the crushing stress of the Morrígan fight, the meeting with those guys that came immediately after his identity was speared, and his talk with Anya, his thoughts were clearer, and his energy had returned.
The answer to his next step was simple, keep doing what he was doing, keep enjoying his life.
He crossed the room to the window, pulling the heavy curtains aside. Morning light spilled in, warm and golden, falling over the books scattered across his desk, grimoires, and notes filled with messy writing.
Magic.
That was it. That was what he wanted to do. Not wasting his time with petty politics or nonsense wars. Magic. He wanted to learn, explore, and see how far it could go. He knew he enjoyed it, and it felt nice when learning something new in magic.
Back then, when he first came to the wizarding world, it was awe he felt, something new, something that was his parents and the place they grew up in, he was finally learning about himself and his history.
He was so caught up in the things around him that he didn't slow down to properly take it all in, and then came the constant trying to survive each year, but after his awakening, his views had just changed, and he felt that same awe again, but much greater.
He honestly regretted not seizing the chance to study it with the fervor it deserved, but hey, it wasn't all that late. He had just been blind to the beauty of magic.
But now, the blinders were off.
After becoming a Campione, the blinds had fallen from his eyes, and the world was now seen in vibrant, impossible colors. Magic had a rhythm, a heartbeat, and it responded to his will in ways.
His talent as a Campione not only magnified his power but also granted him an innate conceptual affinity for understanding the underlying principles of all magical workings.
"So… what's next?" he muttered, pacing slowly. "Swords are Doni's thing. Mine'll be magic. That's fine."
He wants to see how far he could go with magic, what he could do with it, just for fun.
His otherworldly memories provided endless comparisons, fuel for his entertainment. Like trying Dragon Slayer Magic. Was that possible? He doubted it, but he for sure wants to see what he would get if he tried to create something like that. They was also Requip and all these other fun things to do with magic.
Was Logomancy possible here, like out of all systems of magic, he thinks this is the one closest to this world's magic, right?
Magic that derived power from the true meaning and conceptual weight of words.
Could he recreate all these things here? Probably not, as they, given the universal laws of this world, would be different from where these magics were from. But damn it, he had to try. He could attempt to build a new, magic system from the ground up. It would be hard, of course.
He thought to himself, even as a smile was growing on his face.
Then he paused.
"Ah, Doni." He groaned. "I still owe that idiot a duel."
He'd almost forgotten about his "older brother". He knew he was lucky Doni had agreed to wait. He'd have Evelyn handle the arrangements. The man was practically made for things like this. he was quite good at his work of serving Harry, very Efficient, and competent.
For now, though, Harry's focus was on magic. He wanted to learn all he could about magic, and he already had teachers he could learn from..
A thoughtful grin crept across his face as his eyes drifted to the far corner of the room. Two figures stood there silently, motionless, eyes vacant, like expensive, life like puppets.
Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle (Voldemort).
Both lifeless. Both kneeling.
Harry laughed softly. "Quite the pair, aren't you? The greatest wizard and the most feared darklord, now both serving me, whom you both treated as a pawn," he mocked them.
These were his latest trophies, the result of one of his newest Authorities, a trinity born from the Deathly Hallows themselves, claimed from the fallen Heretic God, Morrígan.
His newest Authority was a single, three-faceted power derived from the power of the Deathly Hallows, tied to Morrígan's domain over death, sadly, nothing over fate.
The first authority, The Oath of the Dead (Mionn na Marbh)
A power derived from the Resurrection Stone. It allowed him to summon the souls of those he had slain, no gods, and bind them absolutely to his will. They retained their original powers, their knowledge, and their loyalty was absolute. They were not zombies, they were like perfect copies of themselves, with only the black eyes giving it away.
His army of the dead. Right now, he had two, but he had killed 5 or 6 or so, and he could call them, but...
He could only keep twenty such souls at once, a sensible limitation placed on the Authority, but that was fine. He only needed quality. Dumbledore, the wizard who mastered many forms of magic, and Voldemort, the master of the Dark Arts and soul magic, were his first two subjects, standing ready to fulfill any command, no matter how petty.
Ohhhh, and he could get petty.
Harry could access their memories, their magical knowledge, and everything, but the essence of who they were, the will, the ambition, the love, the hate, was gone, replaced entirely by an ironclad oath of servitude. These two were the ultimate living grimoires, sentient databases of the highest magic the world had ever known, now fully under his control.
It also had one more aspect, Sacrificial Revival. When he was nearing death, he could sacrifice one of his soldiers to recover fully. The soul of the sacrificed would instantly burn away completely, granting him immediate, full recovery, and once they were gone, there would be no reincarnation, no afterlife, just complete erasure.
The second was The Death Shroud (Culaith an Bhaˊis)
Derived from the Invisibility Cloak. While active, this Authority cloaked his body in the same black mist that Morrígan had wielded, the mist that had devoured life itself.
For a maximum of three minutes, while it wrapped him, he was Invulnerable. Nothing could harm him, no spell could pierce him, no force could touch him. he became out of touch with reality literally, becoming untouchable.
This was what got him to survive against Morrigan when she stabbed him and nearly turned him into a pincushion. He had been lucky, very lucky not to have died then.
The final authority, Judgment (Breithiuˊnas an Uachtar)
Derived from the Elder Wand. It allowed him to pierce through the opponent's core Authorities, divine protection, magical armor, or Authority-granted defenses, rendering them ineffective.
It was useful, allowing him to bypass the strongest defenses of his opponents. However, it only lasted for a fleeting one minute, and Harry still found it underwhelming.
He felt it was a lesser version of the Warrior Authority used by his fellow Campione, Godou Kusanagi, whose power could summon a sword to cut through the divinity of rogue gods and cancel out their power, allowing him to have an easier time with the godus.
Harry's version was temporary, hence his quiet disappointment. Still, in a critical moment, turning an enemy's ultimate shield into tissue paper was invaluable.
He moved toward the silent figures of Dumbledore and Voldemort, inspecting them like a craftsman admiring his finest tools. He tapped Dumbledore's shoulder.
"Not bad," he said softly. "You'll make excellent test subjects."
"Magic," he said again, grinning as he turned back to his books. "Let's see how far you can go with your new teachers to hand."
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