Chapter 198: The Truth About the Deathly Hallows (Part 1)
Dumbledore sighed and said,
"You truly would have done well in Slytherin. The sword is indeed with me."
As he spoke, he summoned the Sorting Hat and turned to Phineas.
"Normally, only a true Gryffindor can draw the sword from the Sorting Hat. It's not something that should be loaned out lightly. But... perhaps you meet the criteria as well. Regardless, I'll remove it myself and lend it to you."
He reached into the hat and drew out the sword. The silver goblin-forged blade shimmered with a faint blue glow, and Phineas felt at once that it was more than just a weapon—it was history itself, humming with magic far older than he could measure.
Still, he had no time to study it in detail. Without hesitation, he struck the sword down upon the ring on the desk.
Although the main Horcrux was the Resurrection Stone set into the ring, the ring itself was also corrupted. A direct attack on it could still shatter the dark enchantment.
The sword struck true. With a sharp crack, the band of the ring split open, and the black, rhombus-shaped Resurrection Stone clattered onto the desk. The foul, luring aura it once emitted had vanished.
Phineas smiled in satisfaction, returned the sword to the Headmaster, and then picked up the Resurrection Stone and the Invisibility Cloak from the table.
"Headmaster," he said, "only one remains."
Dumbledore nodded and gently placed the wand he held onto the desk.
"The Elder Wand," he said quietly. "You know it's bound by loyalty. It won't be easy to study."
Phineas smirked and replied,
"That's why I need your cooperation, Headmaster."
Dumbledore gave him a pointed look before sighing. Then he picked the wand back up.
Phineas drew his wand and said,
"Expelliarmus!"
A flash of red light shot forth. The Elder Wand flew from Dumbledore's grasp and landed smoothly in Phineas's hand.
Dumbledore gave him a long, searching look. He knew exactly what Phineas was doing—testing him. Seeing whether he would return the Elder Wand after studying it.
Phineas turned the wand in his hand, inspecting it closely.
The jointed elder wood, the intricate engravings, and the sheer weight of magic in it—it was unlike anything else.
It was no wonder so many had pursued it with desperation. The power was real.
Still, Phineas reminded himself that he had already chosen the materials for his future wand. He would not be tempted by this one—no matter how alluring it felt in his grasp.
With the three Deathly Hallows before him, Phineas fell silent in contemplation.
Then, experimentally, he raised the Elder Wand and flicked it toward a piece of cake on the table. He spoke no incantation, made no special gesture—and yet the cake transformed instantly into a ring, the Resurrection Stone embedded in its center.
This wand truly was extraordinary. It bypassed traditional spellwork, responding directly to intention.
And the transformation didn't feel temporary. It wasn't the illusion of Transfiguration—it felt real.
Pleased, Phineas slid the ring onto his finger and then pulled on the Invisibility Cloak.
If the legend held any truth, if uniting the Deathly Hallows truly did make one the Master of Death, then surely using them together would yield more than the sum of their parts.
That was what he wanted to test.
As Phineas vanished beneath the cloak, Dumbledore observed him with a thoughtful expression. He, too, had considered such a possibility, though he remained skeptical.
The Hallows had been studied for centuries—even by the families who once possessed them—yet no such secret had ever been found.
Still, Dumbledore had to admit: no one in recent memory had brought them together.
Under the cloak, Phineas found that even the faint magical trace usually left by the Cloak of Invisibility was now gone. No aura, no shimmer—nothing. He had become completely undetectable.
Then, holding the Resurrection Stone between his fingers, he turned it three times.
A pale mist began to form around him—a white fog unlike anything he had ever seen. It billowed like a curtain around him, faint and silent.
Then the mist stirred.
Figures began to step forward from it.
An elderly woman with a wild look in her eyes—Walburga Black.
A stern man with a noble bearing—Orion Black.
A younger man with a roguish smile—Sirius, or someone who looked very much like him.
And a sharp-eyed wizard who resembled Phineas himself—Regulus Black.
More figures stood beyond them. Some were familiar, others unknown, their faces half-lost in the haze.
Phineas felt a moment of disappointment. He had hoped, absurdly, to see someone from his past life—but this world was not that world. His blood was Black, and so it was Black family members who had answered the call of the Resurrection Stone.
Yet contrary to the legends, none of them spoke. None tried to lure him to death. Instead, they stood silently around him, glowing faintly.
Those he didn't recognize lined up along a path that opened between them, creating a solemn passage ahead.
And that was when Phineas realized something chilling.
He had been in Dumbledore's office only moments ago. He had not moved.
But now, the room had vanished.
The world around him was black. Empty.
The only light came from the spirits standing around him.
At the end of the path, he saw a wide river—black as ink, stretching like a sea.
On the far shore, a figure stood motionless, facing him.
Watching.
Waiting.
A dreadful thought formed in Phineas's mind—one that made his breath catch and his heart pound.
And he did not like where it was leading.