ACT5CH11 - BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

“You sought to break this girl,” Freyja’s voice rang, soft and fierce, “but you forgot — Summer does not die. The seasons turn and turn.”

Daphne’s eyes blazed gold. She stepped forward, her ruined hand whole again, golden fire licking her fingertips.

“Harry,” she whispered, her own voice threading back in, layered over the goddess’s, “come home.”

And she reached out — through the flame, through the warding shadows, through the god’s grasp and pulled his hand. The golden fire surged, flooding through Harry’s arm, his chest, his heart, burning through the jaguar’s coils, slicing through the Binding like molten sunlight cutting through mist.

The jaguar’s massive head snapped upward, golden eyes slitting to a sharp, blinding glare — and it opened its mouth.

For a heartbeat, the entire world seemed to hold still — and then the ROAR erupted.

Albus was instantly forced down to his knees.

Calling it loud would be wrong. It was too huge for that. Albus felt it press against the vaults of his mind, emotion so violent and intense that it would tear his sanity to pieces if he let even a portion of it into his head. Purple waves of wrath erupted out of Harry, lashing furiously in all directions. When it touched the walls, they shuddered inward, stones buckling as if under the weight of a collapsing mountain. When it hit the floor, the stone bed split open, spiderweb fractures racing outward in glowing black-gold seams, carving through the basalt, shattering ancient wardlines as if they were glass. 

Aurors collapsed all around, clutching their heads, wands clattering uselessly to the ground. Windows imploded inward, shards of enchanted glass slicing through the air like razors, driven by nothing but the raw, devouring hunger in that sound.

To Albus’s sensitive eyes, he could feel a surge of pressure, which might have damaged his eardrums had it been physical, as the courtroom’s magical defences pitted themselves against the wrath of a god. 

They failed.

Stone shattered to dust, and energy exploded upward through the ceiling, through the upper floor, and through the roof. Pure magical energy surged out with it, through the room, into the night, in a wave of such breadth and power that five minutes before, he would have considered it impossible. 

Plants withered in their pots two floors up. 

Magical creatures in the holding pens downstairs thrashed and shrieked. 

Portraits shattered. Runes cracked. 

Potions boiled and hissed and exploded on untouched shelves.

Magic ran rampant into the air. It howled through the hallways and the cubicles. It thundered through pipelines and the Floo, a tsunami of raw power. And wherever it went, the world fell into darkness. 

And yet —

Daphne Greengrass did not move.

Golden light surged around her, coiling like a living flame, wrapping her body in soft, blazing defiance. Her feet stayed planted, shoulders squared, head high, like she was made of immaterial light, which was, for this purpose, more solid, more impenetrable than orichalcum. An unpolluted form, an immovable power, of something so pure and steady and fixed that the universe itself had been built upon its foundation, and in the background, Albus’s addled brain could hear phoenix song.

Like a rock she stood, as the tide of power crashed into her. The heat rippled and tore the earth around them, but she — as well as everyone behind her, including Albus, was left untouched.

Harry — Tezcatlipoca only stared.

“You know what?” said Daphne Greengrass, with a barely concealed smirk. “I believe you aren’t as tough as you think you are.”

The jaguar’s golden eyes narrowed. Its vast, shadowed jaws twisted into a cruel grin.

“You think you stand untouched, little thorn?” it purred through Harry’s mouth. “Let me show you how wrong you are.”

Without warning, Harry’s right hand shot forward — lightning-fast, fingers curled, powered by a god’s brutal force, and closed around Daphne’s throat.

She gasped, eyes flying wide, feet kicking slightly as her body was yanked upward, the gold fire of Summer flickering, sputtering, as the jaguar’s Binding clenched tight.

Albus choked on a shout, magic flaring uselessly in his fingers. Aurors stumbled, Amelia’s voice cracked through the roar of falling magic — but no one could move fast enough.

Except for Harry’s left hand, which snapped up —

— and with a ragged, trembling surge of will, grabbed his own wrist. The right hand shuddered, fingers tightening slightly on Daphne’s throat—

— and then stopped.

Harry’s entire body tensed, muscles straining, veins pulsing, eyes flickering wildly between the blazing gold and pale grey.

The hunger of the Jaguar versus the Defiance of Summer and the Finality of the End of All Things.

For a breathless moment, it was like watching a man drowning, fighting the weight of a god in his own bones.

And then, Harry’s lips parted, his teeth clenched, and in a voice scraped raw with fury, he snarled —

“ENOUGH!”

The right hand jerked, twitching, claws digging slightly deeper — but the left hand tightened, shaking, burning with white-knuckled determination, holding himself back, pulling against the divine force trying to rip through him.

“You are mine,” Harry hissed under his breath, “not the other way around.”

“YOU WOULD DEFY ME?” came the jaguar’s voice, curling through the same throat.

Harry’s jaw tightened so hard a thin line of blood beaded on his lip. Pale light of Death erupted out of his left arm, all but crushing his right arm, causing the purple energies to flicker and dissipate, which let Daphne go. The girl staggered and fell back, coughing, gasping, but didn’t stop looking at Harry.

Not even for a second.

“I am the Lord of House Black,” said Harry with a shaking breath. “And the Jaguar answers to me. Obey my will. Serve me. Bind me if you must, but you live to serve the Ancient and Noble House of Black.”

The Elder Wand flew into his right hand.

The sword of Godric Gryffindor flew into his left.

Harry aimed both of them at himself — the wand at his neck, and the sword at his heart.

“You… you would hold YOURSELF HOSTAGE for this?”

Harry’s lips twisted into a bloody grin. “Didn’t you hear her? I’ve spit in the face of Death to ensure my freedom. Compared to that, you’re small fry! The Blackened Ones are gone, Tezcatlipoca! The last true Lord is dead. And I have just wrenched you out of the Miraculum Operarius. If I die, so will you!”

The wand dug into his neck.

The blade nicked just a bit of blood.

His eyes turned putrid yellow.

“Would you like to see how a God dies?”

Death smiled. 

“Or would you rather bend to my will?”

Albus held his breath. For a moment, he thought the jaguar might react badly. After all, it was the very nature of the Black family to curse, destroy, rip apart and demonstrate extreme aggression. The Black Madness, they called it — but perhaps it had less to do with any psychological issue and more to do with the nature of the magical blood flowing through their veins.

So when he saw the spectral jaguar snarl, he assumed the worst.

Instead, it spoke to him in smouldering fury. “I will rip your heart out, Gatekeeper. Someday, I will drag that darkness from the depths of your soul, and wear your face as mine. And on that day, the everlasting night shall reign again.”

“Someday,” said Harry, exhausted. “But not today. And until then, you shall stay as mine, my weapon against that which crawls out of the Anima. Swear it, or I will end you.”

The jaguar laughed. “Fool you are, Gatekeeper. You threaten me with the End, but I have seen your heart. You carry the cold, but not cold enough that it freezes the heart. The Flower would not bloom in you otherwise.”

This time Harry said nothing. 

The jaguar lifted its chin up, almost pridefully, and turned to look at him. And then his lips spoke again.

“Know this — I know the Gate. I am the Gate. I am the key and guardian of the Gate. Past, Present, Future, all are one in Me. I know where the Dwellers-in-Darkness broke through of old, and where They shall break through again. I know where They have trod the fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread.”

“What is this? Another prophecy?”

Despite his tone, Albus could feel the tension in Harry’s words.

“Not Prophecy. Merely what will happen. Has happened.”

The jaguar’s spectral eyes gleamed. “I have seen the World’s demise, little Gatekeeper. The moon will fall, the oceans will boil, the mountains will break. Do you not hear the scratching against the walls? Your world is full of vermin, and the Flowers will not contain the rot. Ceaselessly they plot, tirelessly they agitate, yet they do not know that they too are puppets, moving upon strings they never envisioned. The worst is still ahead.”

Albus saw Harry’s eyes widen in genuine alarm.

“The flaming boar,” Harry whispered. “It was only the first.”

“Yes, and soon, the rest will follow. This is the knowledge I have for you, for your everlasting damnation.”

The purple specter glowed, before dissipating, only it wasn’t a clean exit. The shadows screeched, as they were dragged backward, howling, coiling, claws raking through the air, desperate to hold on.

To remain.

More important though, was Harry’s own reaction.

His skin had turned pale white, and was sweating through every pore of his body. His face was impassive, his body upright, and his fists clenched and shaking, but not a word was uttered. In fact he seemed to be absolutely frozen in place, unable to move under his own violation.

Most prominently though, was the horror in his dilated eyes, as his skin began to morph into jet-black scale-like pattern. His body twitched in erratic places and patterns as if he was experiencing and witnessing an unmatched abomination and he was unable to look away regardless of how badly he wanted to.

Which… considering what had just transpired, wasn’t far from the truth.

“Harry…” Daphne whispered, grabbing him. “What’s — what’s wrong?”

“I…” I slurred, looking at the devastation all around him, the sight of bloodied and wounded people groaning all around, filing him with the horror that he had caused all of it. Joshua, blooded, one arm hanging limp. The Aurors, collapsed, clutching at split skin and broken ribs. The wreckage of the Chamber, where centuries-old magic had been ripped apart like paper.

Harry’s shoulders lurched. A soft, choking sound broke from his throat. His knees buckled, and for one terrible moment, Albus thought he might see him fall — collapse under the sheer weight of what he had just done.

But then Daphne moved forward, and caught him in her arms, clutching him as he was the only solid thing in the world. Feeling by a bodiless bystander, Albus watched, as Harry pressed himself against her, his rock against the tumultuous tides of the world, his breath ragged.

“I… I did this? It was me… just like Ignotus said, I….”

“Shhh,” she said, holding him strongly. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have,” he said. “I — I—”

Harry raised a shaking hand, the Elder Wand trembling between his fingers, his face still pale, drenched in sweat, eyes wide and distant as if he were barely standing upright on willpower alone.

The boy’s lips parted — hoarse, raw —

“Revert.”

Albus felt it before he saw it.

A ripple shuddered outward from Harry’s wand, and then the world shifted.

Not like a spell being cast. Not like stones knitting or beams rejoining. Instead, it was as if time itself had hiccuped.

The shattered glass froze in midair, spun backward, reassembled itself in delicate, perfect filigree across the windows. The split stone creaked and melted inward, the spiderweb cracks closing with a slow, graceful smoothness, as if the floor were a wound being healed in reverse.

Chairs pulled themselves upright, scarred wood un-burning, cushions puffing back to shape,
polished gold trims gleaming where seconds ago they had been scorched and blackened.

Albus felt the sickening, surreal tug of magic brushing against the edges of reality itself — the wards restitching, the leyline fractures sealing. The magical lattice of the Miraculum Operarius pulling itself whole as if none of this had ever happened.

But it had. Merlin’s bones, it had.

Albus forced himself to his feet, his heart beating like it wanted to complete a month’s worth of beats in a single day, fingers curling reflexively against the dizziness sweeping through him.

He knew Reparo. He had cast it a thousand times. On a teacup. On a book spine. On a shattered mirror.

This — this was no Reparo.

This was Reversal. 

This was the world turning itself inside out because Harry Potter — no, the Gatekeeper asked it to.

He staggered forward a step, reaching out without even realizing it, as if somehow he could touch the magic and understand how the boy had done it.

But of course, he couldn’t. He could only watch, breathless, as the very memory of destruction peeled away, leaving the chamber gleaming, silent, whole.

And that wasn’t the only thing happening.

A surprised gasp erupted out of Albus’s throat, as sudden warmth surged through his body. For a moment, he thought that perhaps Fawkes had appeared or was perhaps healing him through their bond, but then he realised it wasn’t.

This was Life.

The ache in his old spine, the weight on his lungs, the dull pain in his knees that had been with him so long he’d stopped noticing —

Gone.

He felt his magic knit back together, burning bright and clean, without the stiffness, without the weariness, without the shadowed threads of age.

Turning, he found that it was happening everywhere. 

Joshua Greengrass, who had been slumped over, his arm crushed, his robes torn, jerked upright, eyes wide, pale and distressed but still very much whole and completely healed. 

Aurors groaned, gasping, fingers twitching as broken bones mended, cuts closed, bruises faded, breaths steadied.

Amelia Bones, who had been braced against the northern archway, her wand hand shaking with exhaustion, stood tall again, her mouth parted in shock as she watched her own fingers flex, scarred and weathered but now gleaming with restored strength.

Even Mulciber, clutching at his cracked ribs, let out a sharp gasp as the pain evaporated, staring at his own chest with wide, shocked eyes, his hands patting over flesh that had been seconds from collapsing.

The man had been impaled through the lung just a while ago.

And at the center of it, stood Harry Potter, with Daphne holding him tightly. Slowly, he shook, his hand dropping, the Elder Wand somehow still within his grasp. 

“Harry—” He began, thoughts tumbling too fast. He wanted to say something, wanted to reach him, but his mouth was too dry, his mind too full of a thousand different things all at once, his heart too full of dread. He extended his hand —

And closed on empty air.

For Harry Potter was gone. Vanished, like he wasn’t even there. Along with Daphne.

All that was left were the haunting, prophetic tones of the Jaguar.

“...the worst is still ahead.”

Albus’s mouth tasted dry as ash, his heart hammering too loud in his ears. His entire life flashed through his mind — studying at Hogwarts, meeting Gellert, finishing school as Head-Boy, becoming a certified Master at the Transfiguration Guild, his work with Nicholas in dragon-blood transmutation, the War, becoming Headmaster, Voldemort, Harry — he had seen so much in his life, done so much, travelled and become accomplished in ways that most people would believe wasn’t possible to do in a single lifetime. 

And yet nothing, nothing came remotely similar to what Tezcatlipoca had just prophesied.

Not in his entire hundred and sixty years had he seen Family Magic — Gods, in action like he had seen today.

The worst is still ahead.

“ — ore?”

“ —ble —”

Albus blinked, and turned to his right. Amelia was right there, saying something repeatedly.

“ —- More —”

He blinked again. More? No, no —

“Dumbledore!” He heard her this time clearly. And with that came another realization. Mulciber, Nott and the others were yelling. 

 “WE HAVE TO HUNT HIM DOWN!” Mulciber was saying, his robes torn, his wand sparking in one hand. He slammed his fist into the broken dais. 

“This is beyond our borders,” hissed Nott, pale and sharp-eyed, his voice cutting through the chamber like a knife. “We need the ICW! We need international warrants! That boy just shattered half the Ministry!”

“He’s not a boy anymore,” Smith snarled. “He’s a weapon. A living catastrophe. If we don’t put him down now—”

“Enough!”

The word cracked through the room like a whip.

Albus hadn’t even realized he’d spoken. His throat was raw. His voice shook. But the force behind it made the room still for one taut, trembling breath.

He pulled himself upright, hands curling slightly at his sides, blue eyes blazing.

“Do you realise — can you even understand what just happened?”

Mulciber’s lip curled. “We understand that Potter is dangerous.”

“Yes,” Albus agreed, voice a low rasp. “He is. But he is our danger. He is what we need if we want to even imagine surviving what’s coming.”

The air in the chamber trembled. Albus looked at them all — the hardened hit-wizards, the auror captains, the political predators — and for the first time, he realized they were all still playing a game whose board had already been flipped.

“Albus—” Amelia began, but he raised his arm up, silencing her.

“Harry Potter is the Gatekeeper. Yes, he wields power — immeasurable power, but not because he wants to play your silly games. His power has a purpose, and that purpose is to stand against the things that can crawl out of the Anima and bring your darkest nightmares come alive. His power is the shackles that hold the Gate closed, and he wields it, at great personal cost and sacrifice, not because he is greedy for power, but because he must, for there is no one else that can shoulder what he does.”

“And you —”his voice broke slightly as he swept his gaze across the room, “— you would drive him away. Hunt him down. Attempt to kill him.”

He let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

“Merlin help us all, if you succeed.”

For a moment, just one moment, the room hung in silence, and then Mulciber slammed his fist down again.

“I don’t care what titles you throw around, Dumbledore! Gatekeeper or no, Potter just proved he’s too dangerous to live!”

A low murmur rippled through the chamber —fear, resentment, the sharp scent of political opportunity.

Albus closed his eyes. His shoulders sagged. He could already see the shape of the fight ahead. They had no idea. They were children. scrabbling at shadows, while the real storm waited just beyond the veil. They would pursue this madness relentlessly, until it led to their own demise unless…

Unless he did something.

“Mobilize every wand,” said Mulciber, oblivious. “Potter is a threat to all of Britain! He must be —”

“STUPEFY!”

The crimson red stunner that erupted out from Albus’s wand hit Mulciber straight in the chest, but instead of dropping him unconscious, it bodily hurled him upwards, all the way to the opposite wall and held him glued there.

Unconscious.

Stunners weren’t supposed to shove you back with physical forces that made Reductos green with envy. Stunners weren’t meant to stick you like an overpowered sticking charm either.

But none among the audience bothered to point that out. They were too busy standing in awe, disbelief, fear, and no small amount of shock that Albus bloody Dumbledore had just preemptively struck down a Lord of the Wizengamot, and so brazenly at that.

“Albus!” Amelia shrieked. “What are you —?”

“Not a word, Minister,” said Albus Dumbledore, drawing himself to his fullest height. “Not a word.”

He looked around at the sight of the members, the slightest hint of disdain flickering across his features. 

“For decades, I have sat quietly. Watched. Listened. Allowed myself to believe — foolishly—that this body, flawed though it may be, would eventually correct its own course.”

Pause.

“You proved me wrong. Again. And Again. And again, with what you just did today.”

Several heads lowered. Others looked away.

“You ignored the return of Voldemort,” Albus continued. “Refused to investigate mounting evidence. Let Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge remain unchecked until she unleashed an Obscurial in the name of order.”

“Albus—” one of the senior Lords began, weakly.

“You will not interrupt me!”

Silence.

‘After I defeated Gellert, I held myself in check because I was afraid of what I would become if I let myself give in to my ambitions. I restrained myself, withheld from fighting for causes I believed in, simply because I believed myself unsuitable for wielding influence. I forgot that by relinquishing my power, I was letting greedy and self-serving narcissists like you take over the reins of this body and stagnate our world for decades!”

Another pause.

“I refuse to restrain myself any longer.”

Albus Dumbledore had finally made a decision.

“I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, effective immediately, resign from the office of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.”

He had not shouted those words, but given the deafening silence, it hit just as hard.

“Albus…” exclaimed a horrified Ogden. “Are you… have you gone mad?”

“What would you have us do?” asked Tiberius Fawley. “Would you rather have us live under fear of Harry Potter’s wrath?”

“Harry Potter’s wrath,” Albus repeated to himself, as if tasting those words. “No Tiberius, that wasn’t wrath. That was restraint. And in case you couldn’t tell, his restraint was terrifying to the degree that Harry himself felt horrified by it.”

“Then,” said Smith. “Surely you agree that he is a danger.”

“He is dangerous,” agreed Albus. “Our world knows it. Every world knows it.”

He met Fawley’s eyes. “But he’s a danger that was willing to work with us.”

“But Albus,” said Brown. “You saw it with your own eyes just how destructive that boy is. And that was without him remaining in control. Imagine if he gains control — for the Greater Good—”

It was absolutely the wrong thing to say. 

Albus Dumbledore snarled. 

“Do not speak to me about the GREATER GOOD! I have seen first hand what it has done to the entire world when one man decides he can decide the fate of all!”

Arabella Brown flinched. 

“Exactly what Potter is doing,” said Fawley.

“Is it?” Albus demanded. “Harry Potter wielded the limitless power of the Anima unleashed, yet sought to relinquish it all and seal it away behind a Gate. He could have receded back to his place of power after casting the Fidelius, yet sought to return to this chamber to offer clarity. And what did you do? You treated him as a criminal. Offered him obedience in chains. And when he refused to kneel, you called it rebellion.”

“He destroyed this room,” Brown snapped. “What else would you call it?”

“Fulfilling your wish,” said Albus. “You cast House Black out. Surely you didn’t expect the Family Magic to still be a part of the Miraculum Operarius? One must be careful what one wishes for.”

“You are defending him!” Nott accused.

“I am,” said Albus. “And I will do far more, if pushed.”

His words struck like an axe.

“Is that a threat?” Smith rasped.

“A promise,” said Albus softly. “If this body continues its pursuit of retribution, continues to demonstrate even a single bit of hostility against our last hope against the Darkness of the Beyond, then they shall have to go through Me first.”

Several Aurors and hit-wizards slowly raised their wands—  

“A terrible idea,” said Albus with mock geniality. “I urge you all to refrain from pointing any wand at me. Or else I might forget myself and remove your wand… alongside whatever extremity is holding it.”

His voice remained mild, but it now carried steel in it, and reverberated with magical power. The dotty old man had left the room leaving the Defeater of Grindelwald in place.

“I stand with Harry Potter, unequivocally,” said Albus. “So heed my words well. If you push him any further, then there will be nothing in this world — not this body, not the Ministry, not even the ICW, that can stop him from crushing you for good and taking up the mantle of the god you fear he has already taken. And I will help him.”

He raised both hands, and flames erupted above him, as Fawkes appeared, and flamed him away.