Rejuvenation and immortality—temptations countless have pursued, like parched souls staring into a bottomless well.
Would one leap in without hesitation, or cling to that final, fragile breath of life?
Now, that same choice lay before the god of the wizarding world—Albus Dumbledore.
John let out a quiet chuckle, stepped back half a pace, and bowed slightly, holding up the Holy Grail.
"Heh.. The greatest wizard, Albus Dumbledore—please, enjoy your wine of eternity."
Just a sip, a single drop, and Dumbledore could reclaim his youth, return to the peak of his power, to the brightest, most brilliant years of his life.
Every burden, every fear would vanish. The world would never again have to worry about losing another Dumbledore.
For a moment, the air froze—as if someone had pressed a shutter, capturing that eternal instant.
Dumbledore gazed at the liquid that promised everlasting life.
After a long, unbroken silence, he suddenly gave a soft laugh and looked at John with calm eyes.
"Ahaha~ It's a very tempting flavor," he said quietly. "But I still prefer a good glass of mead."
He had resisted the temptation.
Once again, Dumbledore proved to the world that he remained the god of the wizarding realm—unyielding, incorruptible, untouched by the lure of immortality. He had held his ground and endured the trial set before him by the Second King.
John's fingers slowly relaxed around the Holy Grail. Under Dumbledore's calm gaze, the golden cup dissolved into nothingness.
The faint smile on John's lips vanished. He looked at Dumbledore quietly.
"You're a man worthy of respect… and a fool all the same, Dumbledore."
If that cup had been offered to Voldemort, would he have refused?
"You've let the chance to become a god slip through your fingers. You chose to remain human."
It wasn't a lie—whether Dumbledore had feared poison or had truly possessed the heart of a saint, he had still turned away from godhood.
The man once seated upon the altar of divinity had stepped down, choosing to live as a man rather than as something beyond one.
"I know your purpose," John said, snapping his fingers. The crystal goblet reappeared in his hand, its rim shimmering with starlight. "And you know my ambition."
He extended the glass toward Dumbledore with a faint smile. "Then—here's to the death you'll one day meet, Albus Dumbledore."
Dumbledore accepted it with a gentle laugh and a small nod. "Thank you for the toast, John."
He drank the wine, and the golden starlight within it melted into a gentle warmth that spread through his body.
During his battle with Voldemort, Dumbledore had sustained injuries that, though mostly healed, still lingered. Yet the effects of this drink were equivalent to a week's worth of careful recovery.
"A remarkably soothing wine," Dumbledore murmured with quiet admiration.
"Pure things are often enough," John said with a faint smile, sipping from his own cup. "Sometimes, there's no need for anything rare—only something pure."
"I should write that down," Dumbledore replied, smiling. "A fine note for an old man next door."
He turned and walked unhurriedly to the adjoining room. The door opened, then closed softly behind him.
John stood by the entrance for a long moment before turning to shut the Constellation Society's door.
"...You're always the kind of man who leaves no weakness to grasp, Dumbledore."
His eyes darkened—no one else there could comprehend the danger that had just passed.
Each had been probing the other, testing intentions, measuring ambition.
Enemies—or allies?
Or perhaps... something in between—two men willing to use each other.
...
The Constellation Society's gathering came to an end.
Daphne carried her sister on her back as they headed back, while Malfoy and Neville ended up brawling.
Malfoy's hair was left sticking up like a bird's nest—and even then, he still hadn't managed to avenge the "full-body check" incident.
John stayed behind alone in the Constellation Society's chamber, his fingers absently tracing the ring on his hand.
"So… you want to become the guardian of the Holy Grail, huh?" he murmured.
He had already guessed why Dumbledore chose to remain at Hogwarts. Beyond watching over and guiding Harry, there was another reason—the Holy Grail that John had hidden away.
That unstable factor threatened the fragile balance of the magical world Dumbledore sought to preserve.
Dumbledore's vision was never one ruled by an immortal tyrant, nor by wizards tearing each other apart in endless conflict.
He had his own set of principles, and anything too extreme would never pass his quiet judgment.
John had hidden the Holy Grail within Hogwarts, intending to lure Voldemort to it.
It was a dangerous gamble—one that could very well lead to the school's destruction.
And that was why Dumbledore stayed—to watch, to restrain, to ensure that Voldemort would never claim the Grail.
Even if it meant standing guard in the most unassuming, human way imaginable.
From the moment John used the Holy Grail to test Dumbledore, he had understood the man's unwavering devotion to peace—so deep that not even Dumbledore himself was allowed to destroy it.
"You just won't give me a reason to truly hate you," John murmured, lifting his gaze toward the starlit dome above.
His feelings toward Dumbledore were tangled—a mixture of youthful admiration, disillusioned ideals, lingering resentment, and careful, deliberate calculation.
He could rage at Dumbledore, could plot to drag the man down from his pedestal.
He could strip him of every ounce of honor—but he could never bring himself to truly strike at him.
Magic was shaped by will, by the unseen weight of emotion—intangible, yet as real as love itself.
Hatred, too, was a force that gave birth to magic.
But Dumbledore had never harmed him, had never raised his wand against him—and that made it impossible for John to defeat him.
It wasn't weakness. It was the law by which magic itself operated.
Just as Harry's mother's love had created a shield even Voldemort's power couldn't break—magic was, at its core, an expression of the heart.
That was why it was called magic.
John's anger toward Dumbledore came not from betrayal, but from his inaction—from the sheer frustration of a man who could never turn that anger into hatred.
Without hatred, there could be no true battle between them.
"The fool's strategy," he muttered bitterly, Bang! slamming his fist against the table, "clumsy… but damnably effective."
The First King of the magical world—when Dumbledore refused to speak in terms of the "greater good," he became the most troublesome man alive.
"Looks like he started laying his plans right after the Ministry incident."
Thinking back on how Slughorn had brought in Sirius as a professor, John could easily guess whose invisible hand had guided that decision.
Dumbledore was quietly filling Hogwarts with members of the Order of the Phoenix while remaining behind to continue molding Harry—shaping him to grow faster, to stand on his own.
Fortunately, John still held the upper hand.
As long as the Holy Grail remained under his control, every move on the board would follow his lead.
"I'll need to prepare for war," he muttered under his breath. "I wonder how things are going on Narcissa's end."
Sending Narcissa back to Voldemort's side had been a calculated move. Whether the Dark Lord trusted her or not didn't matter; the information she could pass along would be invaluable.
What truly mattered wasn't Voldemort's faith in her—but his need for her intelligence, and what he might choose to do through her hands.
After all, without Narcissa, Bellatrix would never have been able to find Malfoy and reclaim the insignia.
"I've already handed you the key, Tom," John murmured softly. "When you face the temptation of immortality—what will you choose?"
Voldemort was now standing before the same choice that Dumbledore once had.
No—not the same at all.
He had no choice.
He feared death—and the Holy Grail was a temptation he could never resist.
At the same time, he was running out of time.
Perhaps he could hide, wait for Dumbledore to die of old age.
But he couldn't afford to wait for John to grow stronger.
After the battle at the Ministry, Voldemort had already seen enough of John's power and rate of growth to be afraid.
Give it a few more years, and John would be strong enough to kill him outright.
And John was no Dumbledore—he didn't have the patience of a man sitting serenely atop a pedestal.
With Johnny Silverhand's ruthlessness combined with his ties to the Ministry, no matter how deeply Voldemort buried himself, John would dig him out.
Voldemort should fear him.
His only options were to fight to the death right now—or be crushed later, effortlessly, like brittle glass.
John had no doubt which choice Voldemort would make.
Glancing back at the nine doors, he knew he had to give Voldemort an opportunity—then claim his soul for himself.
Death could no longer deceive Voldemort.
So it was time to change the bait.
"When the time comes, I'll need a reason to disappear."
Rumors had already begun to spread, and with Narcissa reporting his every move, John was certain Voldemort would take the bait.
The battle among the Three Kings continued to surge beneath the surface, each of them scheming with everything they had.
...
John was a man of his word. If he said he wouldn't attend a class, he wouldn't. But if he said he would, he was never late.
He still showed up to Transfiguration and Charms, occasionally to Herbology, but the class where he appeared most often was Care of Magical Creatures.
On the second week, Hagrid waited nervously and expectantly for him.
When class began, John arrived right on time, and Hagrid finally relaxed.
"Brilliant, John! Let's go see Grawp!" Hagrid said as soon as the lesson started, eager to drag him toward the forest.
John sighed. "Hagrid, don't you have an actual class to teach?"
But Hagrid just looked at him strangely. "You've got enough knowledge to graduate already."
"Right," John said, rubbing his forehead helplessly. "But you could at least phrase it better. Call it… an 'expanded study session.'"
Hagrid blinked, thought about it, and decided that sounded rather reasonable.
Together, they headed out to visit Grawp. As promised, John had prepared a few things for him—rubber-like flying discs and a full set of puzzle toys.
All handmade by John. Inside the cave, he even installed a blackboard to help Grawp learn to read.
________
o(*￣▽￣*)ブSupport and Read 12 Chapters ahead: Patreon/Dragonel