The silver mask.
That silver mask!
In that instant, everyone's eyes widened.
Even Dumbledore's face showed shock and doubt.
The clash of titans came to a temporary halt.
All eyes fixed on the newcomer.
Six white masks, and one silver mask.
The white masks wore white cloaks; the silver mask was draped in deep green robes, carrying an undeniable air of authority.
The constellation on their chests shone brilliantly.
As they stepped forward, everyone focused on a single question.
Who was he?
Voldemort's gaze locked tightly on the figure.
He knew—that man was supposed to be dead.
The enemy who had once destroyed his Horcrux, the one who had led a bloody slaughter that drove the Death Eaters into hiding.
That man was definitely dead.
He could swear it.
That poison was steeped in curses and malice.
It was born of curses, the embodiment of spite.
Even Dumbledore would have died from it.
And he had only been a student.
Besides, the one he'd sent to deliver the poison had confirmed it—that lifeless body in front of everyone's eyes.
"I-Impossible."
No one could have survived.
For the first time, even Voldemort—who had never flinched in the face of Dumbledore—showed a trace of panic in his eyes.
An impostor...?
That must be it, and the thought steadied him again.
Harry, however, couldn't understand why Voldemort was so shaken.
Didn't he know Johnny Silverhand?
"Who am I?"
The figure halted, his voice carrying a teasing lilt beneath the silver mask.
He tilted his head, the gesture adding a mischievous twist to the mask's mystery.
"Hmm.."
His gaze swept over those awaiting his answer, and from the shadowed heights of the Ministry came the cry of two eagles.
The silver-masked man stepped forward, wand in his left hand.
He passed by Harry without so much as a glance.
"Who am I, huh?"
Repeating the question, he laughed.
"I am an apprentice, and also a pioneer."
His wand rose, unleashing a brilliant whip of white light crackling with electricity.
Boom! It slashed across the floor of the hall, wrapping around the golden wizard statue and hurling it at Voldemort.
Voldemort lifted his wand to block, a silver shield materializing before him. With a flick of his hand, he turned the statue into a projectile and sent it hurtling back toward the silver mask.
"I am a seeker of truth, and one who dares trespass upon taboos."
The silver mask raised his right hand, now sheathed in silver light, and stopped the statue midair without a wand.
Whosh!
Cracks spread across its surface until it shattered into hundreds of shards that shot toward Voldemort like arrows.
Dumbledore seized the moment, his wand sweeping silently through the air. Voldemort was struck by the combined force of the spell and the shards of shattered statue.
But the Dark Lord was not so easily subdued. A gleaming silver shield flared to life, blocking the impact and scattering the debris.
With a violent twist, he broke free and soared upward into the air.
From the ceiling above came the distant rumble of thunder, drawing Voldemort's gaze.
Dark clouds were gathering overhead.
"I am the caller of thunder, and the speaker of ancient dragon tongue."
The silver-masked man slashed his wand downward, summoning a deafening crack of thunder.
Rumble! Craccckleeee!!!
Jagged bolts of lightning tore into the floor.
Voldemort braced his wand against the storm, his robes whipped violently by the force.
In his left hand, he conjured a mass of flame, shaping it into a colossal serpent that writhed and lashed against the lightning.
Beside him, Dumbledore swept his wand over the pool. Water surged upward, crashing over Voldemort and encasing him in a watery prison.
"I am the master who forges the stars, and the alchemist who seeks truth."
At the tip of the silver mask's wand, a sphere of white light the size of a quaffle blazed to life. He stepped forward and hurled it like a javelin at the prison.
Voldemort burst free, his expression darkening. He leveled his wand at the ground.
The stone floor convulsed, bricks stacking swiftly into a thick wall—only to be obliterated to dust by the impact of the white light.
"I have my own followers. Who follow me not because of fear..."
Silverhand snapped his fingers. An invisible wave rippled outward, shattering the structures around Voldemort.
He lifted his wand and pointed at the shattered fragments of the golden wizard statue, which transformed into a pack of furious little dogs that circled and snapped at Voldemort.
Enraged, Voldemort swept his wand in a wide arc around himself, blasting them all to pieces.
Dumbledore sent a Stunner flying, but Voldemort dodged it.
"They call me master, lord, benefactor."
The silver-masked man halted, raising his wand like a conductor leading an orchestra. With precise flicks, he directed the scattered fragments back together—this time merging into one enormous hound that lunged straight for Voldemort.
Roaar!
"Neaah!" The Dark Lord, besieged and harried, threw open both hands and unleashed a piercing, icy shriek that struck directly at the soul.
The giant hound shattered like a statue, while Harry and the others clutched their heads, feeling as though their skulls might burst.
The glass panes of the Ministry exploded, raining shards down across the hall.
Bellatrix started forward to join the fight—until the silver mask's gaze fell upon her. She locked eyes with him.
"!!!" Her body froze, and her left arm began to turn to stone.
"I bear the eyes of death, and scales that let me swim in fire."
Voldemort blocked one of Dumbledore's spells and hurled a jet of green light at the silver mask.
"I wield poison, and flames that melt all things."
His figure vanished on the spot. When he reappeared, the silver-masked man was behind Voldemort, firing a blast of red light.
Voldemort twisted aside, dodging it.
Dumbledore lashed his wand like a whip, thin streams of flame snaking out from the tip and coiling toward Voldemort.
The Dark Lord once again conjured his silver shield, but the flames wrapped around and bound him fast.
"I am the Shadow of destruction, and I am the light of rebirth."
Voldemort vanished, reappearing atop the pool where the wizard statue had once stood. His wand whipped forward, and a great serpent shot from its tip, fangs bared as it lunged at Dumbledore.
With a sweeping, practiced motion, Dumbledore flicked his wand wide, and the massive snake vanished into nothing.
Voldemort's red eyes burned with unwilling rage as he fixed them on Dumbledore.
The chance was gone. With a sweep of his robes, he prepared to leave.
But then came the sound of a gemstone shattering.
The Sovereign's Authority.
[Activated.]
The silver mask fixed his gaze on Voldemort, falling silent for a moment.
He extended his right hand and clenched at the air.
A sword slowly materialized in his grasp.
Drawing his wand lightly across the blade, he shifted into a stance—wand in his left hand, sword in his right.
His voice grew calm, almost casual.
"I bear the fate written in prophecy, and I hold a true name apart from this world."
Voldemort found he could not leave. Raising both hands, he gripped his wand tight.
Shards of shattered glass stirred without wind, rising to gather behind him.
Dumbledore's face darkened. With a swift motion, he conjured a gleaming silver Shield Charm before him, shaped like an inverted cauldron.
The shards shot toward both Dumbledore and the silver mask.
"I am… a Dragon."
Flame burst from the sword's tip, spreading in an instant to engulf the entire blade.
The silver mask regarded the incoming assault with cold indifference. His voice shifted—strange syllables, ancient and ethereal.
"Dragon's blood flows in my veins, and talons that rend all things."
Flames raced up the sword hilt, spreading to consume his body.
"Fangs that claim lives, fire that scorches flesh, venom that seeps into bone."
The silver mask melted away, revealing jagged horns.
"Wings that shroud all things, stars that fall into my jaws, shadows that swallow the world."
His body swelled, wings bursting free from his back.
"I am…"
||"The Dragon King! The Shadow of Destruction."||
The fire erupted into a towering pillar, blazing up to the very dome.
Blistering heat engulfed the entire hall, the massive flames swirling into a vortex.
From within the inferno, a pair of slit pupils snapped open.
Shards that drifted too close were instantly melted, and from that monstrous maw poured a torrent of hellish fire.
It was as though a sun had ignited, water vapor flashing into steam.
Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock, while Voldemort swung his wand with force, summoning a radiant silver shield.
It wrapped around him as the ground beneath turned molten.
Harry and the others were already petrified with fear, standing frozen near the golden doors.
The dragon's breath hadn't even been aimed at them, yet the searing heat still made them tremble uncontrollably.
The smell of singed hair reached their noses, and they couldn't begin to imagine the temperature at the very heart of those flames.
The dragon's breath lasted thirteen full seconds—thirteen seconds that felt like an eternity in hell.
When the fire finally faded, Voldemort stood within it.
In the massive dragon's eyes flickered a trace of disappointment, though it vanished as quickly as it came.
After all, the Dark Lord was never one to be dealt with so easily.
The colossal body began to shrink, returning to its original form.
This time, however, the mask was gone.
Wand in his left hand, sword in his right.
The slit pupils in his eyes were not the same as Voldemort's serpentine gaze; his carried a divine majesty that pressed down on all who looked at him.
John blew lightly at the flame dancing on his sword and smiled. "Of course, if you'd prefer, you can simply call me by name—John Wick."
The Ministry's great hall lay nearly destroyed beneath the dragon's breath. Voldemort slapped out the patches of fire burning on his robes, his eyes fixed on that figure—staring not with rage, but with disbelief.
"You… are still alive? H-How..?"
Even the Dark Lord himself, so renowned and feared, faltered in confusion under the weight of such a revelation.
Dumbledore, too, turned his gaze toward that youthful face.
Not long ago, he had received news of death—a message from Snape himself.
A Potions Master had personally witnessed it. Such a death could not possibly have been false.
Then…
John, how did you return from death?
________
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