Albus knows he’s accomplished quite a lot in his admittedly long life. He’d had several articles published in various magical publications such as Transfiguration Weekly for his spell work, Art of Alchemy for his uses of dragon blood, and his infamous duel with Gellert Grindelwald; he’d even mastered the Wand of Destiny, something he’d sought in his youth.
He was an esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts, a position quite close to his heart. And though it’s not something he’s actively sought, he also had several political positions within the Ministry and at an international level with the ICW.
It did get quite tiresome having to write all those positions at the end of his signature.
However, above all those, yes, this did include his Headmaster’s position – above even that, there was one accomplishment he’s the most proud of than any other.
Seeing his face on a Chocolate Frog card. That was his most significant accomplishment.
He had grown up collecting various cards and had quite a collection by now if he did say so himself. Dear Ariana loved seeing, both before and after the incident with those muggle boys.
Aberforth did love seeing her face light up when she first opened up a new card. Even though she had twenty Merlins and forty-two Circe cards. She treated each card as if she’d only seen it for the first time.
Still, Albus loved having his own Chocolate Frog card. It brought a smile to his face, knowing avid collectors would build up so much anticipation of first unwrapping each card, even if they end up disappointed at “yet another Dumbledore”.
Unlike some other famous figures, Albus was happy to have no restrictions on his Frog cards. He didn’t need any of his to be limited edition gold or anything like that. He was simply delighted to be on one at all.
He giddily pulled out his Chocolate Frog card from his robes, and even in his delirium, he ensured he left it exactly where he’d found Voldemort’s Horcrux ring, containing the precious Resurrection Stone.
After all, he was taking Voldemort’s prized artefact away from him without his knowledge. It would only be correct to replace it with something close to his heart.
Even in as much pain as he was, Albus giggled briefly at seeing his own picture wink at him before he apparated away to get some help for his now-cursed hand.
ooOoo
“This is extremely important, Harry. You must follow my instructions exactly as I say, no matter what.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed, even though he was unsure he wanted to force-feed Dumbledore whatever this potion was.
“You must ensure that I drink every drop of that potion. I need your word, Harry.”
“Couldn’t-?”
“Do I have it?”
“But –”
“Your word, Harry.”
“ – all right, but –”
Dumbledore ploughed ahead and said, “And once you’ve made me drink every bit of that potion, you must remove the Horcrux immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed unhappily.
“It’s crucial, Harry.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said more firmly.
“And one more thing, Harry.”
“Yes, sir?”
“This is just as important, Harry. Exceedingly important. You must promise me you will do this.”
“What is it, sir?” Harry asked in confusion.
What could be more important than removing the Horcrux after forcing Dumbledore to drink whatever that vile poison was?
“You must replace the Horcrux inside that basin with this,” Dumbledore said, reaching into his pocket and holding it out for Harry to see.
“You want me to replace Voldemort’s Horcrux with your Chocolate Frog card?” Harry asked incredulously.
Harry didn’t know whether he should feel amused or horrified that Dumbledore insisted on doing this.
“Exactly,” Dumbledore beamed at him as if this was a perfectly normal ask.
“Er – what?” Harry couldn’t help but question.
“Again, Harry, I need your word,” Dumbledore said seriously.
Harry reached out to take Dumbledore’s card.
“Yes, sir,” he sighed with hidden exasperation.
ooOoo
At Dumbledore’s funeral, Harry was devastated at his mentor’s death, and infuriated that the locket Horcrux Dumbledore suffered for was already taken. However, he couldn’t help but find it slightly amusing that if Voldemort ever checked his basin in that cave, he would discover Dumbledore’s picture twinkling merrily at him.
Then, before Dumbledore’s body was taken away to be buried, Harry, without really thinking about why he did it, secretly replaced Dumbledore’s wand with a new version of a replica joke wand he’d been given by Fred and George from their shop.
ooOoo
Harry wished they’d had a better plan than breaking into Gringotts to get the Cup in Bellatrix’s vault, but given their time constraints, it was the best they could come up with.
Even though he didn’t understand why Dumbledore did it, Harry felt like he had to continue the “tradition” of leaving Dumbledore’s Chocolate Frog collectable to replace the Horcruxes they’d taken. So, even as he was being covered by burns from the cursed gold around him, Harry threw a handful of Dumbledore cards he’d retrieved from his collection (he had so many) as he ran out of the vault, Hufflepuff’s Cup firmly in hand.
Ron and Hermione gave him twin looks of exasperation but didn’t say anything – they still had an escape to make.
ooOoo
“Let’s stick together. I say we go – Harry, what’s that on your arm?”
“What? Oh, yeah –”
He pulled the diadem from his wrist and held it up. It was still hot, blackened with soot, but as he looked at it closely he was just able to make out the tiny words etched upon it: Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.
A blood-like substance, dark and tarry, seemed to be leaking from the diadem. Suddenly Harry felt the thing vibrate violently, then break apart in his hands, and as it did so, he thought he heard the faintest, most distant scream of pain, echoing not from the grounds or the castle, but from the thing that had just fragmented in his fingers.
“It must have been Fiendfyre!” whimpered Hermione, her eyes on the broken pieces.
Harry regretfully couldn’t leave Dumbledore’s card in replace of Ravenclaw’s Diadem, not when the whole Room of Requirement burned down around them.
Yet, he did press one into the hands of Draco Malfoy, whose life he’d just saved, who looked confusedly down at the Dumbledore card.
Harry had no time to say anything further as they ran to help those fighting Death Eaters around them.
ooOoo
The Battle of Hogwarts waged around Harry. He’d been fighting alongside them, but now he felt there was no point in fighting when Dumbledore planned for him to sacrifice himself.
Snape’s dead body lay in the Shrieking Shack. The memories he’d left Harry in the Pensieve in Dumbledore’s office.
They were in a ceasefire now. Voldemort allowed them to retrieve their dead and gave everyone time to regroup, perhaps plan on how to survive the fight, desperately hoping they could win the war today. Harry knew they’d pinned their hopes on him.
Little did they know the only way to win the war was for Harry to die.
Harry could choose to walk away now. He could.
He pulled out a Dumbledore card from his pocket, looking at Dumbledore’s smiling face.
Yet.
He couldn’t.
Ron and Hermione knew they had to kill the snake. He knew they’d take care of it. They were so close to ending the war, winning it even.
He moved down the steps and out into the darkness. It was nearly four in the morning and the deathly stillness of the grounds felt as though they were holding their breath, waiting to see whether he could do what he must.
Harry moved towards Neville, who was bending over another body.
“Neville.”
“Blimey, Harry, you nearly gave me heart failure!”
Harry had pulled off the Cloak: the idea had come to him out of nowhere, born out of a desire to make absolutely sure.
“Where are you going, alone?” Neville asked suspiciously.
“It’s all part of the plan,” said Harry. “There’s something I’ve got to do. Listen – Neville –“
“Harry!” Neville looked suddenly scared.
“Harry, you’re not thinking of handing yourself over?”
“No,” Harry lied easily.
“’Course not … this is something else. But I might be out of sight for a while. You know Voldemort’s snake, Neville? He’s got a huge snake … calls it Nagini …”
“I’ve heard, yeah … what about it?”
“It’s got to be killed. Ron and Hermione know that, but just in case they –”
The awfulness of that possibility smothered him for a moment, made it impossible to keep talking. But he pulled himself together again: this was crucial, he must be like Dumbledore, keep a cool head, make sure there were back-ups, others to carry on. Dumbledore had died knowing that three people still knew about the Horcruxes; now Neville would take Harry’s place: there would still be three in the secret.
“Just in case they’re – busy – and you get the chance –”
“Kill the snake?”
“Kill the snake,” Harry repeated.
“All right, Harry. You’re OK, are you?”
“I’m fine. Thanks, Neville.”
But Neville seized his wrist as Harry made to move on.
“We’re all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?”
“Yeah, I –”
The suffocating feeling extinguished the end of the sentence, he could not go on. Neville did not seem to find it strange. He patted Harry on the shoulder, released him, and walked away to look for more bodies.
“Neville, wait,” he called out.
Neville turned around.
“Take these,” Harry said, passing over a few Dumbledore cards as if they were some sort of good luck charm. “Keep them with you.”
Neville gave Harry a confused look but took them nonetheless, pocketing them as he continued back to his task of retrieving their dead.
ooOoo
“But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!” Voldemort’s voice shook with malicious pleasure. “I stole the wand from its last master’s tomb! I removed it against its last master’s wishes! Its power is mine!”
“Are you sure?” Harry smirked.
“What?”
“I have Dumbledore’s wand. I replaced it with a replica before they buried him,” Harry told Voldemort.
"You lie!” he hissed. “Avada Ke-”
The wand turned into a rubber chicken. Voldemort killed Snape because he believed the spells he cast with the Elder wand weren’t as powerful as Snape was the rightful owner, having cast the Death Curse that night.
Harry laughed at the sight as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
Harry had already taken Dumbledore’s wand before they buried him. Fred and George’s new trick wands were good for a few spells, good enough to deceive the self-proclaimed Dark Lord.
Furious, at being cheated, Voldemort quickly pulled out his old Yew wand and cast again.
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Expelliarmus!”
The bang was like a cannon-blast and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead centre of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort’s green jet meet his own spell, saw the Yew Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air towards the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snake-like face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.
In the melee of celebration that followed, Harry walked up to Voldemort’s corpse and placed Dumbledore’s Chocolate Frog card in his wand hand.
When Aurors from the DMLE came to take Voldemort’s body away, they were equal parts amused and confused, and when they buried the corpse in an unmarked grave, they left Dumbledore’s card in his hand to be buried with him for all eternity.