Next, Harry conjured a leaf and brought it to the edge of the bowl to check if it was some poisonous acid. Before it could reach the liquid, it bounced off an invisible barrier. Dumbledore went at it with a blackened finger, but could not penetrate either. He started muttering spells under his breath, and his calm demeanor, which had thus far signaled that the man had truly considered this nothing more strenuous than a harmless adventure, drooped and soured.
"That won't be quite as harmless as a drop of blood, will it?" Harry said quietly.
"I'm afraid not, Harry. I believe the only way forward would be to drink it."
"Respectfully, that is an absolutely terrible idea," Harry said. "You're never supposed to drink an unknown potion."
"Indeed, it is unwise." He conjured a goblet. The cup passed through and filled with the liquid, thick and sulfurous and as green as death. "Unfortunately, I do not believe there is any choice in the matter." He swirled the potion around, staring at it with complete reluctance. "It will not kill me."
"Er, are you sure?" Harry frowned. "I don't think that could look more deadly unless it wafted smoke in a little skull and crossbones."
Dumbledore chuckled. He turned and gave Harry a fond look.
"Harry, my dear boy, you are a good man. I have complete faith in you, that you shall do what it takes to destroy Tom Riddle. And after that, I can only hope that you find peace and happiness. Darkness is not the way. Darkness is fear, do you understand?"
"This sure sounds like a 'this potion will kill me' speech."
"Harry!" Dumbledore's voice was solemn, intense. "There is good in you, I know it. Promise me, Harry, that you will choose peace."
"I had no intentions of not, professor," Harry responded with an equally quiet solemnity. "I am not Voldemort. I do not want power, I am just trying to survive."
"The road to hell is paved with good intentions, the muggles say. Mind what you can control and what is beyond it."
"I will."
Dumbledore smiled again and warmth lit up his wrinkled face. The goblet raised to a toast.
"To your health, Harry."
Dumbledore drank three goblets of poison, his face twisted in a haunted grimace before he gasped, shuddering, and bent over the edge of the basin.
Harry knew there was nothing worthwhile in the cave, and despite all the man's flaws, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that he truly wished for Harry to find peace. If Dumbledore had not been such a headstrong, moral man, Harry thought they could have gotten along rather well, in some other world.
For all that mama remained steadfast that they could not coexist with those of differing morals… Harry realized that he respected Dumbledore. Flawed as all men are, yet hope clung to his very being.
It would be much kinder, he decided, as he watched Dumbledore's shaking grip lift another mouthful of poison to his lips, to put the man out of his misery. No longer did the idea bring him any satisfaction, however.
The goblet clattered to the earth as Dumbledore collapsed, curled up in a ball like an infant.
"Professor?" Harry asked."Hey? Did you die on me?"
Bleary, fogged eyes blinked awake. They widened, and Dumbledore's blackened hand raised. Harry felt a firm grip on his shoulder.
A figure loomed behind him, shrouded by a plain, black robe, holding a scythe in its skeletal grip.
"Death! Dumbledore is dying then."
"No, not yet," it said. It turned its gaze to the injured man lying prone on the cold stone. Dumbledore's eyes had widened and cleared like he had never drunk the potion, though his body trembled and he did not move. "Albus Dumbledore, we meet at last. May I?"
Death crouched beside the man and curled its fingers. Dumbledore's hand raised and with a gentle tug, the Gaunt ring came free from his dead finger and his wand floated from where it had fallen. Harry felt a tugging from his bag and the Cloak flew from its containment and joined the other two pieces swimming around an invisible current.
"Do you remember your debt, Harry Potter?"
"Y-yeah?"
"I have come to collect. Dumbledore is not fated to die here. He would yet live, and he has lived a good, if flawed, life in pursuit of a higher calling. He will be missed deeply and dearly and none will know what has occurred here and his body will never be recovered. He is the cost of eternal power. He is to be your sacrifice."
"Er," Harry cast a glance at Dumbledore. "I don't understand."
"It is naught but a simple sacrifice, living one. Kill him." Death's toneless voice was loud, sending ripples skimming across the top of the lake.
"It doesn't seem like I have a choice." Harry raised his wand. Something, in the back of his head, beating like a fierce drum was screaming that this was a bad idea. Yet also there was a wave of excitement rolling across his body, puckering gooseflesh.
This is power, it crooned, whispering in his ears. This is destiny.
His sanity tugged on his hair. This will not bring peace, it shouted. That is what you want, isn't it? Like Dumbledore said. You seek normalcy, a simple life.
Harry faltered.
"Of course you have a choice," Death assured him with an impatient sigh. "You must be willing, remorseless. But make no mistake, living one, I will collect what I am due regardless. This is the cleanest path forward. This is your destiny."
"Harry," Dumbledore's voice was weak, raspy, exhausted. Reluctantly, Harry looked at him as the grip on his wand tightened. The corners of the headmaster's eyes crinkled with a brief smile. The quickening, nervous beat of Harry's heart, and the somber, resigned look of his professor made Harry feel very young, very unprepared. Dumbledore's aged skin, lightly pocked and discolored showcased his lifetime. Creased along the edges of his mouth, years of laughter warping his face.
He'd lived an age, and he would die here at the hands of a boy.