This battle had every advantage on their side, superior support, familiarity with the terrain, they should've completely overwhelmed the enemy.
But sometimes, home-field advantage could flip into a disadvantage.
Like now.
Voldemort clearly had a solid chance to escape. And yet, before leaving, he deliberately unleashed Fiendfyre, a final parting gift, not to stop Dumbledore, but to spite him, to make sure he left behind a burning mess even in defeat.
They say "start a fire on a mountain and you'll burn in prison for life," but Tom Riddle didn't care. He wasn't worried about prison. If Dumbledore ever caught him, death would probably be the least painful punishment.
So now, Dumbledore had only two choices:
One, pursue Voldemort and hope against the odds to catch him, but risk letting Fiendfyre reduce the Forbidden Forest to ash.
Or two, let Voldemort go, for now, and make him pay later.
As for waiting for backup? Forget it. If they waited until morning, the Forbidden Forest would be devastated. Hogwarts might even lose the entire centaur colony that lived deep within.
Even someone as powerful as Dumbledore couldn't be everywhere at once.
Allen watched as the old wizard effortlessly snuffed out the raging magical fire, then turned to approach the fallen wizard from earlier.
It was time to move.
Allen waited until Dumbledore was out of sight before stepping out of hiding.
What had been a difficult chase for Dumbledore was a simple task for him. Voldemort's blood reeked of decay and dark magic, and Allen had to fight back a wave of nausea just to follow the trail.
The stench led him deeper into the forest, quickly.
Voldemort's current body was barely hanging on, so whatever vessel he was using to sustain himself couldn't be in good shape either.
Soon enough, Allen found where Voldemort had hidden himself.
It was a crudely cleared clearing, rough wooden planks formed a damp platform, some still covered in coarse bark.
At the center of the platform lay a red-haired man, resting unnaturally still. Above his head sat a ridiculous, dusty old tiara, Ravenclaw's Diadem.
Allen recognized him immediately: Percy Weasley.
He must've seen Allen entering the Room of Requirement. Back then, Allen had been too busy unlocking the curse on the diadem and mastering its secrets to notice. Every second counted.
A Muggle-born might not have known the artifact's significance, but Percy Weasley wasn't just any wizard. The Weasley family might be poor, but they had deep magical roots and a proud legacy.
Allen could easily imagine the excitement Percy felt upon discovering the lost relic of Rowena Ravenclaw. For someone burdened with ambition and the pressure of leadership, the promise of "wisdom" would have been irresistible.
But the crown wasn't what it seemed.
In fact, it was cursed, fatally so.
A piece of Voldemort's soul had corrupted the artifact, and through it, the Dark Lord had manipulated Percy and stolen part of the crown's magic for himself.
Still, Voldemort cared far more about resurrection than he did about knowledge or power. He loved no one and nothing more than himself.
And now, his path to revival was laid bare before Allen's eyes.
Next to Percy, a large altar dominated the platform. Suspended above it, Voldemort hovered, siphoning red-tinted sand, grains soaked in unicorn blood.
Voldemort had never hesitated to reshape his body with dark magic. As he absorbed the sand, even the wounds Dumbledore had inflicted began to slowly heal.
But Allen had no intention of letting him recover fully, neither morally nor logically.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
If humans had natural enemies, then Tom Riddle's was Albus Dumbledore.
The man who'd first guided him into the wizarding world.
His Transfiguration professor for seven years.
His lifelong nemesis.
From the moment Tom Riddle entered Hogwarts, Dumbledore had been a thorn in his side, frightening him with his magic, forcing him to return stolen trophies, breaking down his psychological edge with words alone.
He had been the most beloved student at Hogwarts, a favorite among nearly all the professors…
Except Dumbledore.
It was Dumbledore who stopped him from infiltrating education at its roots.
Dumbledore who created the Order of the Phoenix to oppose him.
And now, even on the brink of resurrection, Dumbledore had shown up to block his path yet again.
One could only imagine how deep Tom Riddle's trauma went.
But Voldemort had no time to reflect on past grudges.
Right now, all that mattered was rebuilding his body.
As for the child, Percy, whose life force had already been mostly drained, he was now useless.
What Voldemort had gained from the altar stone was beyond imagination.
Not because of its raw power, but because it was a completely different type of power.
Unfortunately, in his desperation to revive, he hadn't been able to study the stone carefully.
It had taken too much time to fool the boy and fully manipulate his mind, far more effort than he'd planned. He'd wasted precious time.
Now that Dumbledore had found him, it was clear this place was no longer safe.
He had to finish healing and get out, fast.
As for killing the traitor and driving his son mad… he didn't really care.
Even if those actions had led Dumbledore to him, he didn't regret them. It had happened. He wouldn't apologize.
The only regret he had was that he wouldn't be able to return for the mysterious knowledge that stone contained, not anytime soon. He knew that if he tried to sneak back into Hogwarts alone now, he'd never make it out alive.
Damn it… he was running low on unicorn blood. He'd have to hunt another.
The curse? Irrelevant. His sand-forged body didn't register pain or any of those weak human feelings.
Even though the ritual wasn't fully complete, Voldemort was satisfied with the rebirth spell he had developed. This was power he could feel again, not that hollow, powerless shell he'd lived in for so long.
If the transformation had been finished, he might've even been able to defeat Dumbledore.
Today's battle had proven one thing: the combination of this new power and his own dark magic was potent. Even without full strength, he had been able to fight the greatest wizard alive.
Wait!
He raised his wand, something felt off.
But it was already too late.
A sudden cawing of crows echoed in his ears.
==========
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