Under the dim evening sky, Kyle sped forward on his Broomstick.
Dumbledore followed close behind—but without using any magical tools to assist him.
Kyle had originally intended to wait for him, but Dumbledore showed no interest in sharing the same broom. He simply launched himself into the air with a leap.
A swirling wind-like magic coiled around Dumbledore's feet, lifting him effortlessly into the sky. His flight was even smoother than Vinda Rosier's when Kyle had first seen her.
And he wasn't slow either—keeping right behind Kyle, occasionally turning his head to glance at him.
"It's alright, you don't need to worry about me. I can keep up," Dumbledore said.
His voice was faint, carried off by the rushing wind, but to Kyle, it sounded particularly grating.
What do you mean, keep up… So what if you can fly?
Well, fine. Flying was impressive.
Kyle had to admit, among all forms of magic, flight was one of the rarest—and also one of the most useful. Whether in a direct confrontation or in retreat, it played a decisive role.
But it was exceedingly rare. There were no records of it in the school library—not even in the Restricted Section. Most flying spells were the original creations of exceptionally gifted wizards.
Take Voldemort, for example. He had a spell that let him transform into black mist—somewhat resembling an Obscurus from a distance. It allowed for short-range flight and could be used in conjunction with Apparition.
Trusted Death Eaters had also learned this spell. When they moved together, they looked like a storm cloud rolling in—dark and oppressive.
Grindelwald's followers used it too. Kyle had encountered them in a forest once and had paid dearly for the experience.
Hmm... thinking about it, since Grindelwald could fly, it stood to reason that Dumbledore—who had spent decades locked in battle (and something more) with him—wouldn't have just chased him on foot the whole time. That Dumbledore could use flight magic made perfect sense.
Kyle glanced at Dumbledore again, a surge of envy rising within him.
He wanted to learn it.
Of course, now wasn't the time. Kyle planned to ask Dumbledore about it after this whole ordeal was over.
Even if he couldn't get the Phoenix, learning a flying spell wouldn't be a bad consolation.
The two of them flew onward until they reached the outskirts of Godric's Hollow. Kyle was the first to jump off his broom. Ahead of them lay a small wooded area. Though it appeared empty, Kyle could feel the hidden danger lurking nearby.
It was far too quiet—so quiet not even insects chirped. Definitely not normal.
Suddenly, something shot toward him at high speed and seized him by the shoulder.
Whoever it was had tremendous strength and pulled Kyle into the depths of the woods.
As Kyle was taken, a distinct black figure appeared in the sky.
Dumbledore, who had been ready to intervene, came to a sudden halt and looked up grimly.
"Tom…"
"My dear professor, so you really are here." Voldemort hovered in midair, his scarlet eyes locked on Dumbledore below.
"You knew I would come?" Dumbledore asked, his voice low.
"I didn't," Voldemort said with a smirk. "But that didn't stop me from taking a chance. After all, you've always favored that filthy werewolf. If I killed him today, maybe you'd come seeking revenge."
"Remus has a soul that is pure and kind," Dumbledore said coldly.
"A werewolf with a pure soul... ha, how absurd…"
Voldemort raised his wand. A jet of green light shot from the sky toward Dumbledore.
Dumbledore spun on his heel, his robes swirling as he vanished.
"Come, my dear professor. Let's finish what we started," Voldemort shouted with manic laughter, hurling another green bolt at Dumbledore. "Your greatest asset is now in my hands. Do you really think you can stop me?"
"A wand has never been the deciding factor in victory." Dumbledore reappeared behind Voldemort, his arm sweeping in a smooth motion. Voldemort instinctively dodged as the spell struck the cliff wall behind him.
No one knew what spell Dumbledore had cast, but it left a wide crack more than ten feet long in the stone.
"Too slow, Professor… far too slow…"
Voldemort sneered. "Since you lost the Elder Wand, every move reeks of old age. You're a shadow of your former self."
He swung his wand again, summoning a violent, unnatural wind that surged all around them, then gathered and ravaged everything in its path.
Trees and stones alike were swept up and shredded to pieces.
But Dumbledore calmly evaded the storm.
"Looks like you're not doing so well yourself, Tom. Is this all you've got—broad area spells to put on a show?" He chuckled. "Or did you think this would frighten me?"
As if deliberately provoking him, Dumbledore shouted,
"I've been wondering—how did you manage to heal the half of your leg I shattered? Don't tell me you're keeping a Quintaped around and attached its leg to yours. That would explain the constant stench."
"Shut up!"
Voldemort's eyes burned even brighter. He hadn't expected Dumbledore to be so… articulate. His composure shattered completely.
Back during the battle over the Elder Wand, Dumbledore had struck his leg with a spell, breaking it instantly and sending him tumbling into a filthy, garbage-filled ditch.
He had always seen it as a deep humiliation.
And now Dumbledore had brought it up to his face—how could he possibly stay calm?
"Avada Kedavra!"
A blinding green light burst across the sky.
...
At the same time, deep within the forest, Kyle finally got a clear look at what had grabbed him.
An adult Swooping Evil.
A magical creature... Seriously?
Kyle didn't even bother struggling. Instead, he unlatched the suitcase midair without hesitation.
"Roar!"
"Awooo!"
With a thunderous roar, a massive wall suddenly materialized in front of the Swooping Evil—one that bore three enormous heads. All three lunged forward, snapping their jaws at the creature.
The Swooping Evil instinctively released Kyle and veered upward into the sky, narrowly avoiding the Three-Headed Dog's attack.
Landing on the ground, Kyle immediately drew his wand, scanning his surroundings with sharp vigilance.
"Come out, my dear professor. I know you're there."
A breeze swept through the trees, rustling the leaves. Mixed within was the soft sound of footsteps.
Kyle spun around at once, slashing his wand through the air.
"Protego!"
A nearby tree was cleaved in half—but his real target stood there unharmed, holding his wand level across his chest.
"Incredible. You've changed a lot since six years ago."
Oren smiled as he spoke. "How did you know it was me?"
"Not many wizards carry a Swooping Evil around with them. You're one of the few," Kyle replied flatly.
"Well, that's true," Oren nodded. "But I'd say there are even fewer who travel with a Three-Headed Dog. Where did you get yours?"
He asked it casually, as though chatting with an old friend.
"From Chocolate Frogs, of course," Kyle answered without missing a beat. "Haven't you heard? If you collect a full set of cards, you can trade them in at the Ministry of Magic for a Three-Headed Dog. Or a Dragon, or a Nundu—take your pick."
"Really now…" Oren said with mock surprise. "Shame I don't like chocolate."
"No worries. I'll give you one," Kyle said with a grin.
"What—?"
Before Oren could finish, a faint, sweetly metallic scent drifted in on the wind.
"Nundu!"
Oren reacted instantly, retreating just beyond the edge of the toxic mist—but the sudden danger still rattled him.
Cold sweat broke across his brow. When he caught sight of the magical creature nearby—a sleek, black panther-like beast—his composure cracked.
"Nundu!" he blurted again.
He'd already been shocked that Kyle had a Three-Headed Dog. But a Nundu, too? Was that even something a wizard could raise?
Taming his Swooping Evil had taken him years. A Nundu… That was pushing it.
"Surprised?" Kyle said calmly. "I collected two full sets of cards—traded them for two magical creatures. What's the issue?"
Oren obviously didn't buy the absurd story. The Ministry of Magic would have to be completely mad to hand out a Nundu for some trading cards.
But regardless of how it happened, the Nundu was undeniably real.
Oren suddenly realized he'd miscalculated. This wasn't six years ago. And Kyle was no longer the frail first-year he'd once been.
Still, Oren quickly regained his composure.
"You sure about this? A Nundu's poison doesn't care who's in its way."
"That's fine," Kyle shrugged. "Poison's not the Nundu's only trick."
As he spoke, Kyle swung his wand again.
The surrounding trees burst into rapid growth. Their branches sharpened like spears, shooting in from all directions.
Just as Oren moved to dodge, he caught the faint sound of movement behind him.
That same sweet, acrid scent was back.
The Swooping Evil suddenly dove down recklessly, wings flaring wide to shield Oren's neck.
Crunch!
Teeth pierced through scales. Blood sprayed from the Swooping Evil's wing as it shrieked in pain, its body curling tightly as it spewed a stream of bright blue liquid—forcing the Nundu to retreat.
Swooping Evils carried venom too. If the Nundu didn't back off, they'd both go down.
This result was just fine.
Having taken a solid bite, the Swooping Evil could no longer fly. It swayed and collapsed onto Oren's shoulder.
Kyle raised his wand once more. The vines and branches around them began to twist inward, constricting until they formed a massive wooden cage, sealing Oren inside.
"What remarkable growth," Oren said loudly. "Are you planning to kill me here?"
"You once wanted to do the same, didn't you?" Kyle replied calmly. "If I hadn't been lucky, I might've died in the Forbidden Forest six years ago. Now the roles are reversed, and you can't handle it?"
"Is that what you really think?" Oren cradled the Swooping Evil in his arms.
"Using a magical creature as a shield?" Kyle frowned, his tone full of disgust. "It just saved your life. Don't make me lose respect for you, Professor Oren."
"No, you've misunderstood. That was never my intention." Oren shook his head. "But the Nundu is lurking behind me, staring us down, and it refuses to fully retreat. I don't have many options."
He paused, then added, "Besides, I never intended to actually kill you six years ago. If I had, I could've used that little witch to threaten you into surrendering. Why would I have let her go?"
Kyle stopped. "Wasn't that because of your arrogance?"
"Hah. Do you think I'm some idiot like Malfoy?" Oren sneered. "I'm not above using dishonorable methods if it helps me achieve my goals."
"Take the Dark Lord, for example. He could've taken advantage of the school holidays to round up students one by one, then dragged them to the Ministry of Magic and used their lives to threaten Dumbledore in front of everyone."
"If one hostage didn't work, then ten, fifty, a hundred... Based on what I know of Dumbledore, he would most likely walk to his death without hesitation."
Kyle's mouth twitched slightly.
Don't say that—just don't. If Voldemort had really done something like that... Kyle honestly believed Dumbledore would've sacrificed himself to save the students.
And the plan wasn't even far-fetched. Hogwarts had so many students—even if the pure-blood families were excluded, there were still hundreds left. Not all of them would be able to avoid Voldemort's assault.
In some ways, Oren seemed more like a Dark Lord than Voldemort himself.
"It's a shame that idiot's obsessed with the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. No wonder all he does is hide in his cave and throw tantrums."
"You can't put it that way," Kyle shook his head. "That kind of ruthless strategy might let him kill Dumbledore, but it would also infuriate the entire wizarding world. No one wants a lunatic like that alive. And what if conquering Britain isn't enough for him? What if he reaches for other countries?"
"At that point, it won't just be Britain anymore. The whole magical world would turn on him—and you, since you gave him the idea."
"If that happens, all the better."
Oren fixed his eyes on Kyle, then suddenly changed his expression with a casual smirk. "Hah, don't take it seriously. I'm just talking. I'm nothing more than a disposable servant under the Dark Lord. Why would he ever listen to my advice?"
"You never know," Kyle said, raising his wand. "Just to be safe, maybe you shouldn't go back."
"I'm afraid I can't do that. I'm not ready to die yet." As he spoke, Oren vanished in an instant and reappeared by a tree not far away.
Apparition in the middle of a fight?
Kyle frowned.
That was a problem. Unless Dumbledore showed up, if Oren really wanted to run, Kyle wasn't sure he could stop him.
"Relax," Oren said, leaning against a tree. "Like I said, the proud and arrogant Dark Lord would never take advice from a mere servant."
"From the sound of it, you don't seem to revere the Dark Lord the way the other Death Eaters do."
"That's none of your concern," Oren replied slowly.
He seemed calm, even with the Nundu still watching him closely, confident that he could Apparate away at any moment.
"Then let's talk about something that is my concern." Kyle narrowed his eyes. "You said back then, in the Forbidden Forest—you didn't want to kill me?"
"That's right." Oren nodded. "Your father saved my life. I owed him. Saving you was the only way to repay that debt."
"Saving me?" Kyle looked confused. "Are you joking? I don't remember being in any real danger at the time."
"There may not have been danger then, but that doesn't mean it wouldn't come later," Oren said.
"What do you mean?" Kyle thought for a moment, still not getting it. "What exactly were you trying to do?"
"It's simple." Oren smiled faintly. "I wanted to cast an overly powerful Memory Charm to damage your brain... and make you mediocre."
Kyle immediately thought of Neville. He'd always suspected Neville's poor memory was the result of a botched Memory Charm.
He was speechless.
That was supposed to be saving him? What a load of nonsense.
But from the way Oren spoke—calm, serious—Kyle could tell he wasn't joking in the slightest.
"But it seems now that I was overthinking it," Oren said, shaking his head. "Forget it. Let me give you some advice: stay away from Dumbledore—even if everyone believes he's a good man."
"Why?"
"Because of my father," Oren said quietly. "He admired Dumbledore. Truly believed he could change the wizarding world. He even joined that so-called Order of the Phoenix without hesitation. And the result?"
He lowered his gaze.
"During one operation, he killed a werewolf. The werewolf came back for revenge—broke into our home on a rainy night. And then… he died."
"I spent an entire day being toyed with and hunted by that werewolf—until I eventually ran into your father in some remote place. And during all that time, Dumbledore never once showed up."
Oren's voice was calm. Detached, even. As if he were talking about someone else's tragedy.
"Dumbledore isn't a god," Kyle said. "He can't be everywhere or protect everyone."
"That's exactly my point. Anyone too close to Dumbledore ends up dragged into all kinds of trouble. He can't shield everyone. If you want to stay safe—stay away from him."
"Stay away from Dumbledore... So that's why you targeted me?"
"It's part of the reason. But not the main one."
"Then what is?"
"Back then, I learned the Dark Lord might soon return."
Oren lifted his head. "And I thought—someone as clever as you would almost certainly get involved in the second war once he came back. Maybe... becoming mediocre was the only way you'd survive it."