Dumbledore and Grindelwald's Final Home

The wildly popular novel "Hogwarts: The Rise of Malfoy," a masterpiece by author Wind of the Sleep God, is available online.

The scene switches to Hogwarts.

The candlelight flickered in the Headmaster's Office, warm but unable to dispel the heaviness of the moment. The Fawkes hovered low in the dome, its song no longer clear and melodious, but transformed into a long, mournful lament.

Skylar gently placed the weak Dumbledore on the bed, then knelt on one knee and took out a potion that shimmered with golden-red light—the "Phoenix Immortality Potion." He carefully poured the liquid into the old man's parched lips.

The medicine took effect quickly. Dumbledore's breathing gradually calmed, and the wound from the giant snake's bite healed at a visible speed, his withered skin regaining its color. However, when Dumbledore habitually raised his hand, trying to summon the wand that had accompanied him throughout his life, nothing happened.

He lost more than just a wand; he lost all his magic. Now he can no longer feel the presence of magic and is no different from Muggle or Squib.

The Phoenix Immortality Potion successfully brought Dumbledore was critically injured and on the verge of death, back to safety, saving his life. However, now that the centenarian has lost his magic, he probably doesn't have many good days left to live.

Dumbledore leaned against the pillows, his silvery hair and beard seemingly losing their luster in the candlelight. He looked at Skylar, whose once clear blue eyes, reflecting wisdom and composure, now held only unfathomable weariness and self-reproach.

"It's my fault," his voice was hoarse, like autumn wind whistling through withered branches. "I should have guided him sooner, more decisively. I always thought time was on our side, that the light within him was enough to ward off any darkness... I was wrong." He closed his eyes, remaining silent for a long time. When he spoke again, the words seemed to be squeezed from his broken chest, "Harry... couldn't resist temptation. And I... personally condoned the birth of that 'monster'."

A single, murky tear slid down his wrinkled cheek and silently disappeared into his pillowcase. This ever-composed sage revealed a sorrow he had never shown to anyone before.

"Let me die, Skylar," he whispered, his voice devoid of emotion, only filled with utter weariness, "This is the only thing I can do... atone for my sins."

Skylar remained silent. The candlelight flickered in his gray eyes, yet it did not reveal the slightest hesitation.

Dumbledore blamed everything on his own "negligence" and "misjudgment," regarding Harry's ultimate downfall as clear evidence of his own failure—at this moment, he was no longer the pillar of Hogwarts, no longer the legendary white wizard, but merely a mortal crushed by guilt. Like Rowena Ravenclaw before him, he was trapped in a "broken heart" that could not be healed by magic.

Despite their differing stances, and despite Dumbledore having been an invisible obstacle on his family's path, Skylar still held the elder in high esteem. He knew better than anyone that without Dumbledore's decades of perseverance and sacrifice, the Britain Wizarding World today would likely have already sunk into even deeper darkness.

Skylar gently grasped Dumbledore's withered hand, his voice low and deep as a rock. "Professor, you have devoted your entire life to the Wizarding World. You have sacrificed too much for the peace of the wizarding world; you have never lived a single day for yourself."

"Harry's situation isn't entirely your fault," Skylar said sincerely. "You remain the respected and admired headmaster in everyone's hearts, and you are still the great Dumbledore."

"To live for myself?" Dumbledore opened his eyes, his voice bitter. "Now I'm a useless man, all my magic gone, I can't even hold a staff... What can I do?"

Skylar did not answer.

He rose, his wand tracing a silver arc in the air. Space folded like silk, and the next second, they were standing in a cell in the highest tower of Nurmengard.

The room at the top of the tower was simple yet clean, containing only a bed, a table, and a narrow window facing the endless snow-capped mountains. Grindelwald sat in a wheelchair, his once golden hair now as white as frost, and his once fiery blue eyes now much dimmer. He looked older than Dumbledore, but his pupils dilated suddenly the moment he saw the newcomer.

Albus?

Dumbledore froze on the spot as if struck by lightning.

Skylar quietly retreated, the door gently closed, locking half a century of time within this small space.

Grindelwald reached out his hand, his voice trembling, "You finally... came after all."

Dumbledore approached step by step, his steps unsteady, but he did not stop. He knelt before Grindelwald, and just as he had in his youth, grasped those withered hands.

"I'm late, Gellert."

Their foreheads touched gently, and tears streamed down their faces at the same time.

"I thought... I thought we'd never see each other again."

"I thought so too... but fate always loves to play tricks."

Skylar stood outside the door, listening to the low conversation inside—the longing, regret, and love that had been suppressed for half a century finally poured out in the final moments of his life.

After an unknown amount of time, the door opened.

He looked at Skylar, his weak voice tinged with concern. "Skylar, I've decided to stay here and spend the rest of my days with Grindelwald. But what about you... what about the Knights of Walpurgis?"

Skylar looked at him, a confident yet cold smile slowly curving his lips.

"Leave them to me." He stepped forward, his gray eyes burning with an unprecedented light.

I won't do any worse than you.

Dumbledore gazed at the young man for a long while, then finally nodded slightly. Recalling everything Skylar had done, he knew that this young man had surpassed him in many ways.

It's time for him to let go.

"Alright." He extended his withered hand and placed it on Skylar's shoulder, like an elder passing on a torch to the next generation. "Go, Skylar."

"The future is in your hands. I hope you can bring true hope to this world."

Skylar nodded deeply, without saying anything more.

He turned around, the hem of his robe fluttering in the wind and snow.

The solitary tower of Nurmengard gradually receded into the distance behind us.

And ahead lies the impending final storm.

(Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Grindelwald, I wish you happiness.)

When Skylar returned to the Ministry of Magic the following morning, he was greeted not by the familiar and calm order, but by a near-out-of-control chaos.

The central hall was bustling with noise, stretchers moved back and forth, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of burning, medicine, and blood. Several pale-faced clerks rushed around delivering messages, documents scattered all over the floor, not yet sorted, or even numbered and filed.

The Auror suffered a disastrous defeat from the start.

The Auror force, which had been painstakingly reassembled after the war, was once again severely crippled—more than half of its personnel were lost, and many familiar faces never returned. Even more chillingly, Gadwin Robards, the head of the Auror Office, lost an entire arm in the fighting. He still lies in the intensive care unit of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, his fate unknown.

This was not an accidental failure, but the inevitable result of multiple problems converging.

First, the Auror suffered heavy losses in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, with many experienced Auror dying or becoming crippled in the operation, resulting in a serious shortage of personnel in the current Auror force. In order to maintain the apparent strength of the fighting force, the Ministry of Magic had to forcibly promote many young trainee Auror who had not yet completed their full training and send them to the front lines ahead of time.

These people are not lacking in talent or courage, but they lack real combat experience and, more importantly, the cold-blooded rationality to assess situations and make life-or-death decisions in extreme environments. Their spells may be precise, but they are not ruthless enough; their reactions may be swift, but they are not decisive enough.

It could barely hold its own against ordinary dark wizards, but once the situation got out of control, it was quickly crushed.

The second, and most fatal, reason was the Ministry of Ministry of Magic's intelligence failure.

This time, the enemy deployed a new type of force never before seen on the battlefield—the "Genie," Fantastic Beasts from the Middle East, and a variant modified by the Dark Blood Transformation. Approximately forty Genie suddenly appeared in the area surrounding London, wreaking havoc.

It wasn't a living being in the conventional sense, but rather a living weapon forcibly distorted by Dark Arts.

These water-attribute Genie can condense a large amount of surrounding water in a short time, compressing it into a high-density water sphere, and then throw it out at a speed close to that of a projectile spell. The water sphere does not simply break upon hitting its target, but instead disintegrates instantly under the trigger of magic, turning into a large-scale splash of corrosive liquid.

Even more terrifying is that when they suffer severe injuries or are killed, their bodies become unstable and explode, transforming into a chaotic cloud of demonic water mist and venom that covers a large area around them.

Once you come into contact with these venoms, almost no conventional antidotes can stop their spread.

The toxins can spread rapidly through the skin and blood vessels and erode all the tissues in the body. Even experienced therapists can only choose the most primitive and cruel method—immediately removing the contaminated parts—to barely save a life.

The slightest hesitation will lead to complete necrosis of the entire body.

Faced with such an unexpected enemy, the hastily deployed young Auror were almost powerless to resist, and their lines were torn to shreds in a very short time.

Skylar stood in the center of the chaotic hall, silently watching as one casualty report after another was brought in, his knuckles slightly clenched.

The Auror vice-captain, Nymphadora, who is also one of the Seven Dragon Fangs, was sent to the Italy front. At present, the only subordinates he can rely on are the elite Auror Prewett and Arnold Pisgood, the captain of the Law Enforcement Patrol.

The former were servants who had been marked with the Sleeping Dragon Mark by him, while the latter were members of his vassal family who were loyal to him.

Inside the office of the Ministry of Magic's Senior Advisor, the heavy doors shut out the outside noise, and the anti-eavesdropping runes on the wall lit up and then quickly disappeared. Skylar sat behind his desk, his back ramrod straight, his expression stern. Malfada and Arnold stood opposite him on either side, making no unnecessary movements, simply waiting quietly for orders.

"Arnold, listen to my command." Skylar spoke first, issuing the tactical orders for this battle.

"You will immediately lead all Hit Wizard and reconnaissance teams into action." Skylar tapped his fingers lightly on the table, as if finalizing an unalterable battle line. "Encircle and drive the enemy into sections. Remember, do not attempt to annihilate them, and avoid any form of direct confrontation."

Arnold's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You only have one task," Skylar looked up at him, "Delay time and wait for reinforcements."

"Your mission objective is damage control—to evacuate residents to the maximum extent possible, preserve critical infrastructure, restrict enemy activity, and minimize casualties and social impact before reinforcements arrive. You are not there to win this battle, but to ensure that London is not completely paralyzed tonight."

"Understood! I swear on my life I will complete the mission." Arnold's expression was solemn, but he accepted the order without any hesitation.

Skylar then turned his gaze to Malfada.

"Malfada."

"Yes, Master."

Skylar took out an antique-looking keepsake with intricate runes from the drawer, gently placed it on the table, and pushed it toward her.

"Take my token and go immediately to the Miraculous Alchymia in Hogsmeade Village," he said. "Go find a woman named Sarf."

Malfada was slightly taken aback, but quickly regained her composure.

"Let her—" Skylar's tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable determination, "Release the Giant."

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

Skylar didn't offer much explanation, but he had already weighed the options in his mind.

The threat of the Genie lies in their highly condensed elemental attacks and deadly corrosive venom, but their attack methods are singular, relying almost entirely on the projection of magical energy, and they do not possess any real physical destructive capabilities.

Giant, on the other hand, are quite the opposite.

With thick skin and tenacious vitality, they possess a natural resistance to toxins and elemental magic. Although slow in movement, they are brutal and direct enough. Under these circumstances, using Giant to deal with the Water Genie modified by the Black Demon's blood is the most realistic and safest choice.

If Savannah were still in Britain, he wouldn't need to go through all this trouble—her Werewolf and Giant Inferius Inferius almost immune to poison and magic, making them natural enemies of these Genie.

But unfortunately, she had already gone to the Northern Europe front.

Therefore, the Giant had become his best option.

"Let's go immediately," he said to Malfada. "Time is not on our side."

Malfada reached out and accepted the token, bowed deeply, asked no further questions, and turned to leave.

The office fell silent again.

Skylar sat alone behind his desk, his gaze fixed on the open map of Britain, where red dots were lighting up one by one, like a spreading plague.

He stood up, and then the Apparition and disappeared.

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