Cleaning Up the Battlefield

The ravaged grounds returned to normal, save for a few missing lush bushes.

Clear moonlight fell over the lawn once more, pale silver radiance reflecting off the emerald blades of grass. The evening breeze passed through, and all was quiet.

Still unsatisfied, Loren stopped casting. Only then did he have the time to examine the Elder Wand in his hand, the famed Deathly Hallow.

The ancient wand's first impression was that it was long. At fifteen inches, it exceeded the length of most wands and rivaled some exquisite swords. Straight and slender, its main body was brownish-black. Five evenly spaced wooden knots ran from the end to the tip, descending in size, each one pitch-black.

After thousands of years of oxidation and the polishing of countless wizards, the wooden surface carried a warm, faint sheen.

It was said to be made of elder wood, with a Thestral tail-hair core.

Running his fingers from the tip to the handle, Loren compared it and still felt that his own Apple Wood wand was more comfortable to hold. The elder Elder Wand was useful enough, but it had too many knots. Its surface was rough and uneven, not smooth enough to spin around, and it even dug into his hand a little.

Holding the wand, he spun it around his knuckles like a pen, then walked over to Dumbledore. After a brief pause, he asked, "Respected Headmaster Dumbledore, don't you have anything to say to me?"

"Don't you have anything you wish to ask me?" Dumbledore replied unhurriedly.

"Hiss..."

Loren began to think.

Dumbledore smiled gently, his bright blue eyes sweeping over the surroundings. Once he had confirmed that every trace had been concealed and nothing was left behind, he turned and headed toward the woods.

Loren silently followed behind him, carefully sorting