As soon as the day’s lessons ended, I made my way to Dumbledore's office. Professor Sanguini had handed me a note from the headmaster earlier, summoning me to discuss a matter of importance. I could only assume it was in regard to my previous request.

The halls of Hogwarts were quieter now, save for the occasional murmur of students rushing to dinner. Passing through the Griffin stairwell, I muttered the password and ascended past the concealing Gargoyle. Knocking on the ornate door, I heard Dumbledore’s familiar, calm voice: “Come in.”

The headmaster greeted me with a thoughtful look and gestured for me to sit. A cup of green tea floated over, landing neatly on the table in front of me. "I have the item you requested," Dumbledore said, revealing a cloth-wrapped parcel that could only contain the wooden sword I'd asked for.

“Perfect,” I said, inspecting the package but not yet unwrapping it. “But there’s one more thing I need.”

Dumbledore’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly as he stroked his long, silver beard. “And what would that be?” he asked.

“I need a Time-Turner,” I replied, meeting his gaze evenly. “But I’ll need to modify it, and for that, it’ll have to vanish from all records.”

Dumbledore’s expression hardened as he leaned forward. “That is not a small request. And why, may I ask, would you need such a dangerous device? If you intend to alter events of the past, let me tell you now, it is impossible—or at least fraught with peril far beyond comprehension.”

I shook my head. “No, you’re right—that wouldn’t work. Any Time-Turner that made you believe you could alter the past would only send you to a nightmare dimension. A false timeline designed to punish anyone who tampered with the natural order. In the best case, it’d be so horrifying you’d do anything to undo it. In the worst case, it’d be a dream that someone terrible would want to live in forever—a timeline where people like Cedric were evil or where someone as principled as Hermione ended up a Death Eater. The flaws would be obvious, but the damage would be done.”

Dumbledore’s piercing gaze didn’t waver. “Then what do you intend to do?”

“This isn’t about the past,” I clarified. “I plan to modify it to go forward in time. A lot forward—enough to obliterate Dementors and anyone else trapped within its field. Including myself.”

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Dumbledore’s chair creaked as he shifted uncomfortably. “That would be… suicide,” he said, his voice quieter than before.

“Yes,” I replied simply. “It would be a last-ditch effort, should everything else fail. I know it won’t kill Voldemort outright, but it will damage his soul—just enough to matter. The centuries that pass in an instant will deform his body and mind. The shock could leave his fractured soul vulnerable, allowing you the chance to erase his memory while he’s unconscious. That window of time would be your opportunity to destroy his Horcruxes.”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. “A desperate plan,” he murmured, “but one with merit… as a final resort.”

“Exactly,” I said, my voice steady. “If Voldemort were to regain full strength before his Horcruxes are destroyed, the odds of winning this war drop significantly.”

Dumbledore’s gaze grew even sharper. “And yet this plan rests upon a great personal sacrifice. Why would you propose such a thing?”

I took a deep breath, letting the truth settle between us. “Because I am not truly human, Professor. This form—this body—is a curse, one that I can only maintain because of the incarnation of Life’s assistance. By ancient law, even entities like myself are entitled to a life. Without that loophole, what I’ve done here would have caused… complications with causality.”

Dumbledore’s hand rose to his beard again, stroking it thoughtfully. “And what will you tell the children? Your friends? The people who care for you?”

I froze. The weight of his words pressed heavily on my chest. I hadn’t thought about that.

Hermione’s face flashed through my mind—her sharp wit, her unyielding curiosity, and, most of all, the trust she had in me. The thought of her sorrow, her anger, or her disappointment at my decision stung more than I expected. I could almost picture her standing before me, demanding answers with a look of betrayal. Cedric’s face followed, full of warmth and pride, but twisted by the hurt he would feel if he knew the truth. These images lingered, irritating and unsettling me in a way few things ever had.

“I… don’t know,” I admitted finally. “But I’ll find a way. They have to understand that this isn’t about me. It’s about giving the world a fighting chance.”

Dumbledore sighed deeply, the lines of his face growing more pronounced. “A heavy burden to bear, Benjamin. And yet, one you seem willing to shoulder. I will consider your request for the Time-Turner. But remember—sacrifice, while noble, is rarely as clean or as painless as we imagine.”

I nodded solemnly, the image of Hermione’s expression still lingering in my mind. Could I truly face her—or Cedric—if it came to this? Could I ask them to forgive me for a decision they’d never truly understand?

As I turned to leave the office, the wooden sword wrapped tightly in my grip, and a sense of foreboding settled over me. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a race against time itself, and every step forward felt heavier than the last. The weight of what lay ahead was enough to make even Death feel mortal.