Chapter 296 : Phineas's Retreat
Dumbledore sighed and said,
"Phineas, you should know my story, yes? It's not exactly a secret among pure-blood families."
Phineas nodded. He knew Dumbledore was speaking of his sister, Ariana.
Dumbledore continued,
"If I could truly change the past with a Time-Turner, do you think I wouldn't have done so? I wasn't alwaysas great as who I am now—though I dislike the word 'great', it's the only one that fits at this moment."
Phineas understood what he meant. If the past were truly malleable, then the young Dumbledore who dreamed of forging a new world with Grindelwald would certainly have used a Time-Turner.
In fact, Phineas suspected Dumbledore had tried once. That would explain why he understood the unchangeable nature of time so well.
But... should they simply give up?
Phineas looked up at the magical projection Dumbledore had cast above them. In the swirling mist, within Ravenclaw's hidden chamber, dozens of time-clones of himself were forming.
Dumbledore watched as well, then turned to Phineas and said slowly,
"You must understand—the reason the Time-Turner is strictly regulated isn't simply because it can traverse time. As you now realize, the past cannot be changed, and the Time-Turner cannot travel into the future. It isn't inherently dangerous."
Phineas nodded. He had begun to see that. But if that were the case, why had both the Council of Elders and the Ministry banned their casual use?
Dumbledore seemed to sense the question—or perhaps he was ready to answer it anyway. He raised a finger, pointing toward the white mist above them.
"This is why. As long as the Time-Turner remains intact and the user doesn't collapse from the strain, it can be used repeatedly. If someone insists on changing a particular moment in history, and keeps trying, their personal timeline—and the world's—will begin to warp and concentrate at the point they continue to revisit."
"That doesn't mean time stops. It just means the weight of time becomes distorted, and that instability can lead to... unpredictable consequences."
He paused, then added more plainly:
"In other words, if you keep going back, copies of you keep appearing in the same time frame. Even if they're dormant, they still take up space... they still consume resources—oxygen, for example. One person doing this is manageable. But if many do it, that time period becomes overcrowded. The consequences are catastrophic."
Phineas was silent. He understood now. What he was attempting was reckless. And yet... he couldn't accept that.
He drew the Time-Turner from his pocket once more.
Seeing this, Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. He swiftly drew his wand and, with a flick, snatched it away just as Phineas moved to turn it.
"Professor... are you really going to stop me?" Phineas asked, staring into his eyes.
Dumbledore sighed.
"I'm not stopping you out of spite. But this path you're on—it endangers the entire magical world."
Phineas's gaze hardened.
"The safety of the wizarding world isn't my concern. Even if you taught me, you can't stop me from doing what I want."
As he finished speaking, he vanished. A flicker of displaced magic lingered in the air—the unmistakable trace of a Time-Turner.
Dumbledore sighed deeply.
"It seems... his bloodline has awakened fully."
He looked up once more. The number of Phineases in the magical mist had increased again. The chamber—never large to begin with—was nearly overflowing.
Watching Phineas vanish and reappear again and again, Dumbledore realized his student was far more difficult to guide than he had ever imagined.
The kind, eloquent young man was gone. This version of Phineas was unstable, fanatical—driven only by obsession.
Years of careful planning and cultivation had unraveled. After Lisa's death, it seemed everything Phineas had built had turned to ash.
She was his sister—not by blood, but in the truest sense. She had raised him. That loss had shattered him.
Unlike Dumbledore, who pondered the problem from afar, Phineas had become consumed by it.
He began an endless loop—failure after failure eroding his resolve.
Eventually, he gave up leaving Ravenclaw's chamber at all. He simply woke, acted, failed, and repeated.
No one knew how long it went on. But over time, Phineas began to suffer.
There's a flaw in all Time-Turner use, known but rarely acknowledged—time itself.
No matter how often he returned to the past, his body's clock continued forward. A few uses wouldn't matter. But constant use? That drained his lifespan.
Every trip took days, even weeks. Though only minutes passed outside, he had already aged a full year.
And still, he failed. Each time Lisa died.
Sometimes ambushed and finished by an enemy's wand. Other times, he defeated the enemy, only for reinforcements to strike him down.
He tried everything. He took her away mid-battle—only for her body to be mutilated during Apparition.
Over and over, the result was the same: he failed.
Could the past truly not be changed?
Phineas didn't know. But he knew he wasn't strong enough—yet. Thankfully, he had stopped using the Time-Turner. He had started relying on his own innate magic.
With it, his reach into the past had no limit—so long as his body and power could endure it.
That, at least, offered hope.
Time would not betray him. As long as he grew stronger, one day... he might succeed.
Having come to that conclusion, Phineas slumped against the wall in Ravenclaw's chamber. He stared at one of his dormant selves sleeping nearby, and fell into silence.
———
Phineas was missing.
After returning to Hogwarts, he had vanished again, without warning or trace.
Not a whisper was heard of him in the entire magical world. It was as if he had disappeared.
Astoria worried, but had nowhere to turn. Sirius remained in a coma, unreachable.
Rumors spread throughout Slytherin.
Some said Phineas had secluded himself for research—he'd done it before.
Others claimed he'd been arrested by the Ministry of magic for the massacres of the Parkinson, Goyle, and Crabbe families, and was either imprisoned in Azkaban... or executed.
Whatever the truth, none dared act against the Black family. What if Phineas was merely hiding?
Among pure-blood society, Phineas was feared. Those aligned with him saw him as a powerful, albeit unstable leader.
Those who opposed him stayed silent, terrified of what he might do next. He was a madman—brilliant and violent.
Time passed.
Months went by with no word. Still, through the Black family's operations, it was clear—Phineas was alive, just hidden.
Ambitious enemies waited, watching for the right moment to strike.
Christmas came and went. Phineas had made promises—to take Astoria to the Black estate, to bring Harry to see Sirius. He kept none of them.
It was June now. A full year had passed. Hogwarts students had grown used to his absence.
Even Dumbledore could not find him. But he knew one thing—Phineas had stopped using time magic. The anomalies had ceased.
So where was he?
The answer: Hufflepuff's Chamber of Secrets.
The ancient chamber, hidden in the Forbidden Forest and sealed by Helga's Cup, was built for long-term hibernation.
Phineas hadn't used the Cup to enter—he'd found another way. If he had used it, he wouldn't have been able to leave.
For months, he had hidden there. Aside from occasional instructions sent to Damon, he had severed himself from the world.
His focus: magic.
He now understood that the current magical framework could not elevate him to legend.
Dumbledore, Nicolas Flamel, Voldemort, the elders of the Black family—they all forged their own paths. That was what Phineas had to do.
He stood at the threshold of legend.
To proceed, he had to first organize what he already possessed.
The system, once his greatest asset, now offered little guidance. But it remained a useful tool for categorizing his vast powers.
He had awakened numerous magical bloodlines—Midgard Serpent, Civet, Star Horse, Tengu, Dark Crow...
Each gave him abilities: magic vision, enhanced body, third eye, Parseltongue, devouring magic, nine lives, affinity with death, magic sense, and most recently—time travel.
These gifts formed the foundation of his future. But they were also obstacles. Too many bloodlines, too much conflict.
Perhaps, ironically, a less gifted wizard might reach legend more easily—unburdened by such chaotic power.
Now, Phineas had to choose. One bloodline as his foundation. The others—refined, fused, tamed.
Only then could he forge his own legend.