As we sat across from Dumbledore, he placed cups of hot cocoa before each of us. The warm, rich scent filled the room, but I pushed mine aside.

"I’m afraid I’m not one for sweets," I remarked.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore transformed my cocoa into a cup of unsweetened tea, still steaming gently.

“Excellent,” I nodded, taking a sip.

Dumbledore settled into his seat, leaning forward. “Now, there are some matters we must discuss.”

I raised a hand to stop him. “You still can,” I said, looking toward my friends, seated around the room.

Dumbledore’s gaze shifted to the others. I nodded. “They know who I am—or at least, they know part of it. I am, as some here already know, not just any magical entity but the incarnation of Death himself.”

Ron nearly choked on his cocoa. “Blimey, you’re what?”

Hermione quickly added, “It’s not what you think, Ron.”

“You knew?!” he stammered, his face paling as he turned to her.

“Not until recently,” Hermione replied calmly. “And he’s nothing like the stories say. He’s...our friend, and nothing changes that.”

“But—he’s the damn reaper!” Ron argued.

“And he’s our bloody friend,” Hermione insisted, her voice unyielding.

Ron looked at me, his voice wavering. “You lied to us.”

“I never lie, Ron,” I replied steadily. “I simply withheld what you did not yet need to know.”

Ron’s gaze hardened. “But... but you use the darkest of magics!”

“By your understanding, yes. I embody what you consider dark. But that does not make me evil,” I said, meeting his eyes.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Ron hesitated. “Then why...why are you here? In the flesh?”

I nodded, expecting his question. “Because each of you is special. You are meant to stand together against the Dark Lord when he returns. Without Harry Potter, you would have lost before you even grew strong enough to be a threat. I am here to even the odds.”

“What?!” Draco interrupted, shaking his head. “No, you’re meant to support his rise! To bring about the return of pure-blood rule!”

I held his gaze. “Voldemort may promise that, but in reality, he would use and discard your family the moment it serves his purpose. He cares only for himself, Draco. He’ll risk everything you hold dear without a second thought.”

Draco’s mouth opened as if to speak, but he closed it again, his gaze flickering with doubt.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, reclaiming our attention. “Perhaps we might focus on the matter at hand,” he said, looking at me meaningfully. “I wish to understand how Harry’s protection spell could have failed.”

I sighed, feeling the weight of that question. “It wasn’t the spell that failed, Professor. The magic was perfect. But it relied on the love of a blood relative. Had Petunia loved him or been a full sister to Lily, the spell would have held.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “They were sisters. They shared the same parents.”

“No, Professor. Raised by the same parents, yes. But Petunia’s mother had an affair. Petunia and Lily did not share both parents.”

Dumbledore’s eyes filled with sorrow as he murmured, “Petunia once wrote to me, you know. She asked to attend Hogwarts. She believed her parents loved her less because she wasn’t a witch. She never suspected...” His voice trailed off, and his hands trembled slightly as he clenched them together.

“People hide their flaws,” I said softly. “And in doing so, they often hurt others in ways they never intended. You couldn’t have known.”

Dumbledore’s voice was faint as he asked, “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything to make up for...for my error?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I need an item that once belonged to Ron’s ancestor.”

Ron’s face went blank with shock, and Dumbledore looked at me quizzically. “Ron’s ancestor?”

“Godric Gryffindor,” I confirmed.

Gasps rippled through the room. Ron, Draco, and even Neville wore expressions of astonishment.

Dumbledore’s brow furrowed. “That...may be harder than I anticipated.”

“Oh, it’s not the sword you know,” I assured him.

“Because that is a national relic,” Dumbledore replied, relief flickering briefly across his face.

“No, it’s technically a sword but not the one you know. It’s a wooden sword, one used for training knights back when wizards and witches ruled as lords. It bears Godric’s personal mark, a symbol he used before his rise to fame.” I quickly sketched the symbol on a piece of parchment and handed it to Dumbledore.

He studied the paper, then nodded. “I will do my best to find it. But...a toy sword?”

I smiled. “It may look like a toy, Professor, but this sword holds a legacy unlike any other.”