As the world spun violently…
When Jon's vision settled, a forest that felt faintly familiar appeared before him.
The forest lay in utter silence in the early morning. Jon looked up and vaguely saw sunlight filtering through the canopy, slipping between layers of leaves, swaying faintly as it scattered down—revealing a quiet so elusive it felt almost unreal.
Placing the pair of half-new riding boots on the ground, Jon raised his wand once more, pointed it at them, and murmured softly,
"Portus!"
After stowing the deactivated Portkey back into his suitcase, Jon strode toward the edge of the dense forest.
Several eerie howls echoed from deep within the woods… not sharp, but low and heavy, carrying a chilling menace that sent shivers down the spine.
Almost at the same moment, a noble song sounded above Jon's head.
Fawkes appeared. She had sensed her master's death and followed him here…
At this moment, she was singing a mournful dirge in a way Jon had never heard before. Like a phoenix's song, it seemed to resonate not through the air, but directly within his mind—as if his own grief had transformed into music, echoing through the forest and tangled undergrowth.
The cries of distant beasts ceased instantly… as though nothing had happened, as if they feared this phoenix's lament.
Fawkes's elegy continued to reverberate, the notes trembling softly in the air… but Jon lifted his head and gently shook it at her.
The phoenix suppressed her sorrow and slowly descended from the sky.
"It's not over… there's still a final sliver of hope," Jon said solemnly. "Quick… take me there!"
Fawkes gazed into the distance, as if she understood something…
Seizing the moment, Jon grabbed one of her talons. Man and bird took off together, flying at breathtaking speed toward the edge of the forest.
...
The surrounding shrubs and trees visibly withered, fading from lush green into desolation.
Almost no trace of life remained.
As Jon and Fawkes crossed this barren land, the distant fortress—grim and oppressive—grew steadily closer.
The stronghold stood atop a not-so-high cliff, surrounded for miles by a wasteland of broken ruins. Clutching Fawkes's talon, Jon sped through the sky toward it.
In his mind, the lingering effects of Felix Felicis urged him on…
Time was unbearably short. He had to hurry.
Yet when they were still two hundred yards from the "Tower of Nurmengard," Fawkes began to descend. The intelligent phoenix had sensed the powerful protective magic laid over the entire fortress.
But they were already close enough. Jon, suitcase in hand, sprinted at full speed toward the spiked iron gate.
He slammed hard against the door, silently praying that Gellert Grindelwald was not asleep.
…Fortunately, he didn't have to knock for long.
Barely a minute later, the black, spike-covered gate slowly opened a narrow crack…
An aged wizard, gaunt and frail to the point of weakness, appeared before Jon.
This time, however, there was no broom in his hands.
Gellert Grindelwald's expression was grave. Before Jon could speak, he asked in a low voice,
"He… is he dead…?"
"Yes…" Jon nodded instinctively—then quickly shook his head. "No…"
Setting down the suitcase, he began rummaging through it with care.
"If Albus isn't dead, then why are you in such a hurry to come looking for me…" Grindelwald asked quietly.
By then, however, Jon had already carefully lifted out the "corpse" of "Albus Dumbledore" from the suitcase, with Fawkes's help.
Gellert Grindelwald bent down, placing a hand over Dumbledore's chest, then checking his neck…
His already frail complexion turned even paler.
"It seems I was right… he is dead…" Grindelwald sighed, the sound painful to hear. "Old friend… you still walked ahead of me in the end…"
"No… Mr. Grindelwald…" Watching the life visibly draining from Grindelwald's face, Jon spoke urgently while continuing to search through the suitcase. "Professor Dumbledore can still be saved. Perhaps you can save him…"
"Me?" Gellert Grindelwald gave a bleak smile. "What could someone like me do—a broken man who hasn't used magic in fifty years…"
"Albus is already dead…" His voice grew weaker. "No magic can bring him back… unless… unless…" He trailed off. "But that's impossible. In my youth, I spent decades just to find one of the three, and now…"
"Wait… how is this possible?!"
Grindelwald, who had been on the verge of collapse, suddenly regained a flicker of vitality.
His eyes widened as he stared in disbelief at what Jon held in his hands.
...
In Jon's hands was a silver cloak—exceptionally smooth, utterly unassuming, and almost inconspicuous.
The "Invisibility Cloak."
Gellert Grindelwald trembled as he seized it, gently stroking the fabric, confirming it again and again.
"Yes… yes… yes…" he muttered, on the edge of hysteria.
Summoning strength from nowhere, Grindelwald rose with surprising agility and draped the Invisibility Cloak over Dumbledore's "corpse."
"There might still be time…" he murmured, half to Jon and half to himself. "All that's missing is the stone… If Albus's wand is here as well… there really might be a chance…"
"Mr. Grindelwald, you mean the Resurrection Stone, right…" Jon had already taken the other two Deathly Hallows out of the suitcase. "I've heard that whoever gathers all three Deathly Hallows can command death… I just don't know how to do it…"
Taking a breath, Jon continued,
"…So, can Professor Dumbledore still be saved?"
Grindelwald carefully accepted the stone, no larger than a fingernail, brushing it lightly with his fingers. Then he glanced at the wand clutched in Jon's hand.
"There's no problem," he said, drawing a deep breath as clarity returned to his voice. "No problem at all… All three Deathly Hallows are here… They truly can command death…"
"Quick, follow me!" he ordered without hesitation.
At the same time, he lifted Dumbledore's body—concealed beneath the Invisibility Cloak—and strode rapidly toward the upper levels of the tower.
Jon hurried after him.