A thousand years ago, Godric Gryffindor had wielded a wand in one hand and a sword in the other, spilling rivers of blood and building his unrivaled reputation on the corpses of challengers and Dark Wizards.
But a thousand years later, Gryffindor had become a legend, and wizards preferred to believe that his legendary sword had been nothing more than an ornament.
Wizards had long since become "baboons" capable of nothing but waving little wooden sticks.
So when Dumbledore drew that longsword from the Sorting Hat, Voldemort fell silent for a moment-an exceptionally rare occurrence.
Then he laughed, as though he had seen something utterly hilarious, just as his followers had when they saw Neville draw the sword.
"A sword? Dumbledore, at our level, what use could a sword possibly be? Gryffindor's methods are outdated."
"Perhaps. But at the very least, it will be a novel experience."
Dumbledore twirled the longsword with remarkable proficiency. Clearly, he had practiced quite a bit in private.
"As wizards, we should always maintain a healthy curiosity. Wouldn't you agree, Tom?"
Dumbledore paused and looked himself up and down. "It seems I'm still missing something..."
His somewhat elaborate wizarding robes suddenly became a plain white robe, simple and practical, while tender green branches sprouted from the wand in his hand.
They grew rapidly, twisting and intertwining until they formed a staff made from a tree trunk.
"That's much easier on the eyes."
Voldemort watched Dumbledore's cosplay performance with cold eyes. He couldn't shake the feeling that the old man had probably gone mad.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Voldemort actually felt a faint pang of wistfulness. It seemed even Dumbledore could not resist the passage of time.
He had grown old after all, and was beginning to go senile.
Only Voldemort himself had finally