Chapter 231
"Remember your purpose."
Albus Dumbledore's voice turned cold. The tip of his wand emitted a silvery-white mist, clearly restraining the Dementor hovering nearby.
Harry felt as if he had been pushed off a cliff.
He kept falling.
Endlessly.
His most painful memories were dragged out, one after another—
"Don't move, Harry… please don't move…"
"Stand aside, you foolish woman… go, now…"
"Don't move, Harry… take me instead… just kill me—"
The Dementor fed greedily, draining every trace of warmth and happiness from him. Harry's body trembled violently, cold sweat pouring down his face.
Dumbledore was no better.
Sweat soaked his forehead and beard. His wand hand trembled uncontrollably.
The creature was still unsatisfied.
Hunger twisted it further.
Slowly, it lowered its hood.
A hollow, shapeless mouth opened, sucking in the air with a dreadful rasp.
It leaned closer to Harry.
Closer.
Harry's face grew deathly pale. His struggles weakened.
Just as the Dementor was about to touch him—
"Expecto Patronum!"
A burst of dazzling silver light erupted.
A radiant phoenix Patronus soared forward with a clear cry, its wings striking the Dementor.
The creature disintegrated instantly—reduced to ash.
The tattered cloak collapsed to the ground.
Dumbledore staggered back and sank into his chair. His eyes closed, exhaustion overtaking him. The sharpness in his gaze was gone. He looked, for a moment, like nothing more than a weary old man.
He coughed harshly, reaching blindly across the desk.
---
Harry opened his eyes slowly.
He stared at the ceiling.
"What… happened?" he murmured. "Did I fall asleep?"
He felt drained—more than after facing a dragon. Not physically, but mentally. A strange heaviness lingered in his chest.
"Professor Dumbledore… what happened to me?"
Dumbledore was smiling again. Calm. Gentle.
"Perhaps you've been under too much pressure lately. You fell asleep while we were talking."
Harry frowned slightly, unsure.
"We spoke for quite some time. Have some chocolate," Dumbledore said, tossing him a small packet.
"Thank you."
Harry caught it and glanced at the chocolate—it resembled the kind used for the password.
Dumbledore rested his hands on the desk, fingertips pressed together, tapping lightly.
"That will be all for today, Harry. You seem tired. We can talk another time. Enjoy your Christmas holiday."
Harry hesitated for a moment, sensing something was off—but he still stood and left.
The oak door closed behind him with a dull thud.
---
Silence filled the room.
Then—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
From behind a portrait, a figure stepped forward, applauding slowly as he emerged into the light.
Draco Malfoy.
"So that's why you used my Dementor," he said calmly. "You wanted to extract the soul fragment from the Savior. Quite the idea."
He walked to Harry's chair, picking up the remnants of the black cloak.
"But it didn't work."
Dumbledore said nothing.
"You've tried your final method, Professor. Still undecided?" Draco continued. "When you sent that man to Nurmengard, you weren't this hesitant."
He paused, watching the old wizard.
"You hoped he could avoid all this. But even the Dementor's Kiss couldn't separate the fragment from his soul."
Dumbledore remained silent.
"This is the best option now," Draco went on. "Let Voldemort take his blood in the third task. When he rebuilds his body using it… that may be Harry's only chance to survive."
He stepped closer.
"You have no other choice. You believed me once. Are you wavering now?"
"I… do not have the right to decide this alone," Dumbledore said quietly, eyes closed.
"No one wants to make sacrifices," Draco replied. "But people always do, when it comes to protecting what matters."
He turned toward the door.
"You could tell him everything now. See what choice the Savior makes."
Dumbledore lowered his head.
He knew the answer.
Harry would choose to sacrifice himself.
He always would.
"You as well?" Dumbledore suddenly asked.
Draco paused at the doorway.
"Yes," he said calmly. "Me as well."
And he walked out.