All I saw was...
In mid-air, Dumbledore remained suspended, the Elder Wand held horizontally before him, but a massive, horrifying wound was visible on his chest! The wound stretched from his right shoulder to his left rib, deep enough to expose the bone, its edges still wreathed in undying black Fiendfyre. These malevolent flames relentlessly gnawed at his flesh and Life Force, preventing the wound from healing. Blood gushed from the wound like a waterfall, streaming down his body and staining his entire deep purple robe crimson!
The White Dark Lord's once pure white silver hair was now stained with blood, becoming mottled and unsightly. His face was ashen white, devoid of any color, his lips were cracked and purple, and the golden holy light surrounding him had long since dissipated, leaving only a faint Magic Power Fluctuation that barely kept him from falling.
On the other hand, Grindelwald's situation was several times worse than Dumbledore's.
The Dark Lord's entire right arm, from the shoulder down, had vanished completely, torn apart by the golden judgment array, leaving only his bare left shoulder. Blood gushed wildly from the severed arm, leaving a long, gruesome trail in the air before dripping onto the sea, spreading into patches of dark red. His robes were completely shattered, and his body was covered in burn marks from the holy light, his skin charred and cracked. The light in his once sharp, heterochromatic eyes had begun to dissipate rapidly, his gaze becoming empty, and his body swayed precariously, as if he might fall from mid-air at any moment.
Albus
Grindelwald spoke with difficulty, his voice hoarse like a broken gong, each word aggravating his wounds, the excruciating pain causing him to tremble all over. Yet he still stared intently at Dumbledore, a hint of obsessive smugness in his eyes.
You lost.
Dumbledore remained silent, simply gazing at Grindelwald. His azure eyes gleamed with a complex mix of emotions: anger, helplessness at Grindelwald's unwavering obsession, a sigh for a lifetime of entanglement, and a hint of relief known only to himself. He offered no rebuttal, no explanation, for he knew there were no true winners in this battle; they had both lost to each other, to the past, to this destiny destined for mutual destruction.
Grindelwald looked at his silent figure, then suddenly laughed. The laugh, so sharp and tragic on his pale, haggard, and scarred face, was a mixture of madness and desolation—a resignation born of knowing the end, yet also a stubborn, unyielding resolve. With his last ounce of strength, he said, each word deliberate and deliberate, "Next time we meet... I will definitely kill you."
The moment the words left his mouth, Grindelwald could no longer hold on. His body lost all Magic Power support and began to plummet rapidly towards the roaring sea below, the sea wind whipping his tattered robes.
He was like a withered leaf with a broken string, utterly powerless to resist. But just as his body was about to plunge into the icy waves, a dense black flame suddenly erupted from his body. The flame had lost its previous ferocity and instead carried a gentle, protective intent.
The flames quickly condensed and took shape, transforming into a giant black bird—a Raven.
The Raven made its move.
Its wings were formed from pure black Magic Power, its eyes were gentle yet firm, and it spread its huge wings to steadily support Grindelwald's weakened body.
The Raven flapped its wings and flew at incredible speed, carrying Grindelwald towards the horizon where night met dawn. In the blink of an eye, it disappeared into the sky, leaving only a faint black trail that slowly dissipated in the air, leaving no trace.
Dumbledore hovered in mid-air, motionless, silently watching the direction where the black Phoenix had disappeared, his eyes vacant, not moving an inch for a long time.
The sea breeze ruffled his blood-stained silver hair and robes. The wound on his chest was still bleeding, and the black Fiendfyre were still gnawing at his Life Force, but he seemed to feel no pain. All that flashed through his mind were the times he spent with Grindelwald in Godric's Hollow when he was young.
Those shared aspirations and vows made while standing side by side have ultimately turned into the devastation we see today.
I don't know how long I stood there.
Dumbledore's last bit of Magic Power was completely exhausted, and his body could no longer maintain its levitation. It began to tilt forward uncontrollably, like a giant tree that had been felled, slowly falling forward.
He slowly closed his eyes, his face deathly pale, blood still gushing from the wound in his chest. The Elder Wand, which he had been clutching tightly in his hand, slipped from his weak fingertips, spinning and falling through the night sky with endless desolation, finally crashing into the roaring waves below.
It was completely swallowed by the surging seawater and disappeared without a trace.
Yes.
The one once hailed as the greatest white Wizard in the Wizarding World, the omnipotent and eternally gentle and composed Dumbledore, was now falling straight down from the sky like a kite with a broken string.
"How could this be! Grindelwald won!"
The Auror on the ground stared blankly at this scene. Everyone froze on the spot, their minds blank. No one dared to move, no one dared to speak, and they didn't even dare to make a sound. They could only watch helplessly as their revered and relied-upon Guardian Spirit fell from the sky.
All that remained in their hearts was endless despair and panic.
"No!!"
It wasn't until the leader, Gleeson, suddenly snapped out of his daze, that he saw Dumbledore falling. His pupils constricted, his heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly, and a wave of pain and panic washed over him. He abruptly stood up and roared with all his might, "Help! Help!"
The roar finally jolted the stunned Auror awake. As if waking from a dream, they scrambled to their feet. Some immediately cast Wingardium Leviosa, sending golden magical light rushing toward Dumbledore in an attempt to slow his descent; others, with trembling hands, cast Healing Charm to stop the blood gushing from his chest.
Some people stood there blankly, at a loss, their faces streaked with tears; others were busy treating their injured companions. The scene was chaotic, yet filled with extreme urgency.
With the combined force of several Wingardium Leviosa, Dumbledore's body was finally caught a few meters above the ground, landing gently on a relatively intact rock without suffering a secondary impact. He lay quietly on the cold rock, his chest rising and falling weakly, his face ashen white. His lips were bloodless, the old man's eyes were tightly closed, and his breath was so faint as to be almost imperceptible, as if he would lose all signs of life at any moment. "This shouldn't be!"
Gleeson rushed to the edge of the reef and knelt down beside Dumbledore with a thud. His hands trembled violently. He desperately channeled his Magic Power, casting his most powerful Healing Charm again and again. Golden healing light enveloped Dumbledore's chest, but the black fiendish Fiendfyre at the edge of the wound were too malevolent. They clung tightly to the wound, devouring its Life Force. No matter how hard he Hard Work, the Healing Charm could not penetrate the black flames, and it could not stop the bleeding, much less repair the wound.
" Professor Dumbledore! Professor Dumbledore! Wake up!" Gleeson cried hoarsely, his voice trembling with barely suppressed sobs, tears streaming down his face and dripping onto Dumbledore's blood-stained robes. "You can't die! The Wizarding World can't be without you, we can't be without you! Wake up!" Just as Gleeson was on the verge of despair, Dumbledore's eyelids suddenly twitched slightly, and then he slowly opened his eyes. Those deep blue eyes, which were usually filled with starlight and gentleness, were now dull and lifeless, filled with weariness and weakness, yet he still maintained a final vestige of consciousness, not completely unconscious.
He slowly turned his head to look at Gleeson beside him, whose face was streaked with tears and who was in a state of panic. His lips moved slightly, and he spoke in a voice so faint that only the two of them could hear it.
Dumbledore said softly, "I'm fine... I just... need to rest..."
Gleeson stood frozen, momentarily stunned. He stared blankly at Dumbledore's open eyes, at his weak yet steady breathing, until he was certain Dumbledore was truly alive. Only then did he let out a sudden sigh of relief, as if all his strength had been drained away, and collapsed to the ground. The Auror gasped for breath, his body drenched in cold sweat, his back icy cold. He looked at Dumbledore's pale face, at the still-burning black Fiendfyre, his heart filled with lingering fear. Just a hair's breadth away, and this great white Wizard would have been gone forever.
The Wizarding World will completely lose its last pillar.
"Medical!"
After a brief moment of distraction, Gleeson quickly regained his senses. He forced himself to his feet and roared at the Auror around him, " Hospital Wing! Quick! Get the professor to the Hospital Wing immediately! No, to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries! Apparition to St Mungo's's right there! Hurry! We can't delay!"
Several agile Auror immediately stepped forward and carefully lifted Dumbledore, their movements extremely gentle, as if afraid of aggravating the wound in his chest. The group hurried towards the Apparition point on the shore, their steps hurried and full of urgency. The remaining Auror stayed behind, cleaning up the ravaged battlefield, treating their seriously wounded comrades, and extinguishing the remaining black flames. But on each of their faces, there was no joy of victory, only heaviness and confusion.
Gleeson stood alone at the highest point of the battlefield, gazing into the distance where Grindelwald had disappeared, at the sky that had been utterly torn apart by the battle and was still murky, at the traces of blood and black fire remaining on the sea, his heart filled with unspeakable fear and confusion.
Grindelwald escaped, severely wounded, but he is still alive and will surely make a comeback someday.
Professor Dumbledore was seriously injured and his life hung in the balance. Even St Mungo's's might not be able to completely heal the sinister Fiendfyre wound.
Oh, and there was that mysterious black bird that took Grindelwald and disappeared without a trace. No one knows where it came from, and no one knows where Grindelwald is hiding.
"What a turbulent time!"
He looked up at the horizon, where the morning light was finally beginning to appear on the distant sea. A faint golden-red glow pierced through the clouds and spilled onto the broken shore. A new day was about to begin, a morning that should have been full of hope, but in Gleeson's heart, there was not a glimmer of light.
He knew perfectly well that from this day forward, the Wizarding World would never have a peaceful day again; this great war was just the beginning, and the real catastrophe might have only just begun.
The sea breeze still howled, the waves still surged, and the smoke from the battlefield gradually dissipated, but the gloom that shrouded the entire Wizarding World could no longer be easily dispelled.
That ultimate showdown in the sky and sea ultimately failed to determine a true victor, leaving only a mutually destructive outcome and a tragic and desolate past destined to be forever etched in the memory of the Wizarding World.
at the same time.
The Auror swiftly reached their destination.
The moment Dumbledore was admitted to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
The entire hospital was in an uproar.
The news spread too fast—or rather, someone deliberately made it spread too fast. By the time several Auror carefully carried Dumbledore through the hospital doors using Wingardium Leviosa, the corridors were already packed with people. Healers rushed in pushing stretchers, while intern nurses stood by, covering their mouths. Everyone's eyes were filled with terror.
Meanwhile, the Wizard who happened to be receiving treatment there all stood on tiptoe, trying to get a better look at the pale-faced old man on the stretcher, whose chest was still burning with black flames.
"Get out of the way! Everyone get out of the way!"
Herman Webster, St Mungo's's most senior healer, pushed through the crowd and rushed to the stretcher. His gaze fell on the horrifying wound on Dumbledore's chest, and his pupils contracted sharply. The Black Flames were not fierce, but they were unusually stubborn, writhing slowly at the edge of the wound as if alive, devouring any Magic Power that tried to approach.
" Fiendfyre." Webster's voice was deep and somber, "And highly concentrated Fiendfyre imbued with the caster's will. Ordinary Healing Charm are ineffective against it."
He looked up and said to his assistant beside him.
"Go prepare the anti-curse sequence. Call Portman, Avery, and one—" He paused, seemingly making a great decision, "Go and invite Nick LeMay. If he's still alive."
The assistant paused for a moment, then turned and ran away.
Webster personally pushed the stretcher towards the innermost intensive care unit. His steps were quick yet exceptionally steady, as if afraid of jolting the extremely weak old man on the stretcher. Several Auror tried to follow, but he stopped them at the door with a single glance.
"This isn't Azkaban," Webster said coldly. "In St Mungo's, the patient comes first, everything else second. You wait outside."
Having dealt with the Azkaban matter, Gleeson arrived shortly after, opening his mouth as if to say something, but finding himself speechless. He could only watch as the heavy oak door slowly closed before him, revealing Dumbledore's pale face, the still-burning wound, and the Elder Wand that had been sent inside with it.
Everything was shut out behind the door.
An eerie silence fell over the corridor.
The onlookers hadn't dispersed, but they no longer whispered; they stood silently, staring at the closed door. Occasionally, someone would look up and exchange a glance—a glance filled with fear, unease, and an indescribable, overwhelming sense of despair, as if the sky had fallen. Dumbledore wounded. The invincible, greatest white Wizard in the Wizarding World lay deep within this hospital, his fate unknown. Gleeson leaned against the wall, wearily closing his eyes. The image of that battle still replayed in his mind—golden light intertwining with Black Flames, the ruins of Azkaban collapsing with a roar, Dumbledore falling from the sky like a kite with a broken string.
He suddenly opened his eyes, forcing himself to stop thinking about it.
Now is not the time for reminiscing. He has more important things to do.
He turned around and spoke to the several equally exhausted Auror behind him.
"You lot, stay here and keep watch. No one—no one—is allowed to enter that room unless approved by Healer Webster or by me personally."
The order has been issued.
Whether it can be complied with or not.
Nobody knows.