The arrows formed from shattered glass had not yet reached their target when they dissolved into blossoms under the pressure of overwhelming magic.
Pink petals drifted down around Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall, standing on the first floor, had not yet grasped what was happening.
Seeing the falling figure descending rapidly toward the ground, she instinctively cast a spell to slow his fall.
"Ah—thank you very much, Professor McGonagall."
Dawn landed lightly on the ground and smiled.
The familiar face made the witch in green robes freeze.
"You are Dawn Richter?"
She stared at him in disbelief. The newspapers had clearly reported his death. Yet here he stood before her.
Dawn opened his mouth to speak.
But in the next moment his ankle twisted sharply, and he threw himself sideways.
A rope that burst from the ground missed him completely.
Dumbledore appeared beside them instantly, arriving on the first floor with the help of Fawkes.
"Wait—Albus, what is happening? That is Mr. Richter, isn't it? But he died!"
McGonagall had finally regained her senses.
Without turning his head, Dumbledore replied quietly while watching Dawn.
"I'm sorry, Minerva. I will explain later. For now, could you please return to the Great Hall and protect the students?"
His calm tone steadied her.
McGonagall stepped back and positioned herself in front of the hall entrance.
Dawn wasted no more words.
Facing Dumbledore's solemn gaze, he attacked first.
Fiendfyre erupted again.
With a wave of his hand, an ocean of flames surged upward, forming birds and spears that rained down from the sky.
After his earlier experience balancing magic, Dawn's control had improved dramatically. Even shaping Fiendfyre into various forms now came easily to him.
"You've grown stronger, Dawn," Dumbledore remarked, watching the blazing inferno.
Red spells shot from his side, intercepting each flame precisely.
The spells collided with thunderous explosions.
Then the snow on the ground suddenly twisted into ropes and whipped toward Dawn. But under the blue Fiendfyre, they quickly turned to ash.
"Headmaster, those outdated tricks aren't necessary," Dawn said softly.
He narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore, thinking about his next move.
Although this duel served partly to test his current strength, Dawn fully intended to kill Dumbledore if possible.
Yet judging from the fight so far, he was still weaker in raw power.
Even the trick of secondary magic manipulation had only managed to slice Dumbledore's robe.
Then suddenly—
While he was thinking—
A flash of silver light appeared at the edge of his vision. The wall of fire around him split open unexpectedly.
From the gap, a strand of steel wire shot through and wrapped tightly around his body.
Dumbledore had forcibly seized control of Dawn's Fiendfyre.
Dawn's eyelid twitched. He had been distracted for only a moment, and the opportunity had been taken.
He began forming a blasting curse in his chest.
But before the magic emerged, the steel wire suddenly turned back into snowflakes.
From the swirling snow, a spell shot forward and struck Dawn directly in the chest.
Dumbledore had converted the magic sustaining his transfiguration into a Stunning Spell.
Dawn cursed inwardly.
He Apparated away just before losing consciousness and hurriedly drank a potion.
Cold liquid slid down his throat.
Unfortunately, it was not the powerful restorative brewed by Slughorn. Against Dumbledore's spell, its effect was limited.
Dawn still felt dizzy.
However, after completing his magical creature transformation, the outermost layer of his body granted him the resistance of a phoenix.
He retained enough strength to keep moving.
Dumbledore wasted no time.
Gripping the delicate bracelet in his pocket, he sent another Stunning Spell and conjured steel cords racing toward Dawn.
But they struck only a flicker of fire.
Dawn Apparated again to avoid them.
Dumbledore frowned.
Apparition gave an enormous advantage when evading attacks.
Glancing at Fawkes on his shoulder, he prepared himself for a prolonged battle.
Dawn reappeared and immediately dove aside, forcing himself to shake off the dizziness from repeated Apparitions.
"You're truly impressive, Headmaster. I thought my precision with magic had nearly caught up to yours."
He took a deep breath.
With a levitation charm, he lifted a clump of snow from the ground and slowly shaped it into a dagger.
Looking at Dumbledore, he smiled without emotion.
"It seems I must show my true abilities."
In the next instant—
Blood sprayed through the air.
The dagger flashed across Dawn's wrist.
His flesh split open.
Hot blood poured onto the scorched ground like crimson blossoms blooming on snow.
"What is he doing?" someone asked curiously nearby.
McGonagall shook her head instinctively.
"I have no idea."
But she suddenly froze.
The doors of the Great Hall had opened slightly, and several small heads were stacked on top of each other, peeking outside.
"Merlin's beard! What are you doing here? Go back inside immediately!"
McGonagall nearly fainted with frustration.
Yet the battle outside was both terrifying and fascinating, and the students ignored her orders.
Ron, squashed at the bottom, whispered to Harry.
"Do you think that's really him? Dawn Richter is supposed to be dead. The Daily Prophet even printed pictures of his body!"
"I don't know," Harry replied.
But remembering the spells they had just witnessed, he doubted it.
How could a wizard their age hold his own against the greatest wizard alive?
Meanwhile, Hermione was craning her neck at the top of the pile, staring at the familiar yet impossible figure.
"Merlin's beard," she muttered repeatedly.
McGonagall raised her wand, intending to shut the door. But then she caught sight of something that made her eyes widen in disbelief.
"That's impossible!"
She turned back sharply.
From the pool of blood on the ground burst a massive thunderbird with snow-white feathers and multiple wings.
With a cry, it summoned storm clouds overhead.
McGonagall blinked.
For a moment she wondered if she was hallucinating. Then another creature crawled out of the blood.
A monstrous Acromantula the size of a carriage.
"Ahhh!" Ron screamed and covered his eyes.
Dawn paid no attention to the commotion.
Watching the creatures he had created, a delighted smile spread across his face.
Since understanding the function of the black lines within magical patterns, he had gained the ability to transform ordinary objects or creatures into magical beasts.
But because of World Correction, he could not use this power freely during battle.
However, after discovering that even a single drop of blood carried the altered pattern from the Luckspring transformation, he had devised a clever solution.
If he used his own body as the material, the transformation would not trigger World Correction.
"A master of magical creatures? I can do that too."
He smiled slightly and prepared to overwhelm Dumbledore with numbers.
Dumbledore watched as magical beasts climbed from the blood pool, shifting from flat patterns into living forms.
Even he, a master of transfiguration, had never imagined witnessing such a phenomenon.
When the thunderbird called lightning down upon itself, he finally confirmed they were not mere illusions.
Raising the Elder Wand, he cast a Stunning Spell.
The thunderbird was struck mid-flight and crashed to the ground.
Though shocked by Dawn's achievement, Dumbledore could still handle several magical beasts at once.
He continued attacking Dawn without losing control of the battlefield.
Dawn quickly retreated.
Transforming magical creatures required altering their individual magical patterns one by one. It was time-consuming.
Preparing them in advance for battle was not an option either.
Even though they were formed from his own body, Dawn could not maintain control over them for long.
He intended to drag the fight out.
And so—
The battlefield fell into a stalemate.
Hogwarts seemed to turn into a grand exhibition of magical creatures.
Dragons soared through the air, Thunderbirds roamed, and Nundus released clouds of poison.
Yet Dumbledore remained composed, keeping everything under control while still protecting the students hiding in the Great Hall.
Is this as far as I can go?
Dawn felt a trace of unwillingness. Even after exhausting his methods, he could only barely match Dumbledore.
He couldn't deal any real damage.
His gaze shifted slightly. And in the next moment—
Whoosh!
A chilling wind tore through the air.
Pain exploded in Dawn's shoulder. It felt as though something had sliced through flesh and bone.
The ribbon connecting him to the Sorting Hat snapped instantly.
"Hey! Watch your aim! I'm still back here!" the Sorting Hat shouted from within the spray of blood, nearly struck by the spell.
Dawn staggered.
Seeing the hat fly upward, he instinctively reached out—
But the moment his hand touched the brim, pain flared again.
A thin line of blood flashed across his arm. His forearm was severed cleanly and sent flying.
"Snape—!"
Dawn roared coldly as he saw the hooked-nosed man appear out of thin air.
He had no time for retaliation.
Focusing on the severed limb, he cast a levitation spell, trying to retrieve his left arm, which still clutched the Sorting Hat.
But Dumbledore reacted instantly.
Using the same spell, he quickly overpowered Dawn's control.
"Dawn Richter. Weren't you supposed to be dead? How did you crawl out of your grave?" Snape said, wand pointed at him, his tone as cold and peculiar as ever.
He had been brewing potions in his office, but the constant noise had driven him out.
And now he found someone who should have been dead, fighting Dumbledore.
Resurrection?
A thought flickered through Snape's mind, stirring something buried deep within him.
Dawn merely let out a soft snort.
He said nothing.
Turning slightly, he faced both professors, anger still visible on his face.
Dumbledore looked at the severed arm still gripping the hat and sighed faintly. Snape's strike had been ruthless.
But this was not the time to comment. He retrieved the arm, pried open the pale fingers, and took the hat.
Then—
He noticed Dawn smiling.
"You've fallen for it, Headmaster."
The anger vanished from Dawn's face, replaced by calm indifference.
Dumbledore froze.
For a moment, he felt something slip into his body.
Then—
A faint snap echoed.
His pupils shrank.
A dull pain spread through his chest. His flesh began to ripple unnaturally, as if undergoing some transformation.
"Richter, what did you do?!" Snape snapped, raising his wand again, preparing to cast Sectumsempra.
But before he could act—
A flash of red light erupted.
A Stunning Spell burst from the ground beneath him, striking his jaw. Snape's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed instantly.
"My apologies, Professor Snape," Dawn said lightly. "You just happened to step on my blood."
He had infused his blood with magic, converting it into a secondary Stunning Spell.
Dawn raised his wand, intending to finish Snape with a Killing Curse—
But the ground beneath his feet suddenly surged upward, throwing off his aim.
McGonagall had reacted.
Sharp stone blades erupted from the raised platform.
Dawn frowned and Disapparated, refusing to waste time on Snape. Instead, he turned to the most important target.
Dumbledore.
"Checkmate, Headmaster. "
Dawn appeared in front of him, a faint smile of satisfaction forming.
He had reason to be proud.
Yes, he had relied on a trick. Yes, he had exploited something Dumbledore didn't understand.
Yes, the outcome might be different if they fought again.
But—
He had defeated the fear in his heart.
Dumbledore struggled to breathe, clutching his chest as he bent forward.
"...Dawn... what did you do?"
"A small result of my research into blood curses."
Dawn rubbed his fingers together.
With his ability to see magical currents, how could he not have noticed Snape approaching?
He had recognized Sectumsempra and chosen not to dodge. Instead, he allowed his arm to be severed.
He had even ensured he held the Sorting Hat, giving Dumbledore a reason to touch him.
And once that contact was made, the magic he had attached to his arm would enter Dumbledore's body, severing the black lines within his magical pattern.
This, too, was a form of secondary magic manipulation.
Once those lines were broken, ambient magic flooded in, forcing Dumbledore's body to transform.
Under Dawn's gaze, Dumbledore began to shrink.
His arms turned into wings. Black-and-yellow fuzz covered his body. His legs fused into a stinger.
A bee? Dawn raised an eyebrow.
It was oddly fitting.
He smiled faintly and raised his wand.
"Headmaster, I'm sorry. But I think it's time for you to embark on a great journey into death."
Even with Voldemort still alive, Dumbledore's death would benefit him far more.
And with this opportunity, he would not let it slip.
°Avada Kedavra°
The green curse shot forward like a venomous serpent, aiming for Dumbledore's throat.
"Albus!" McGonagall shouted, casting spell after spell in desperation.
All were blocked by Dawn's shield.
Thud.
A phoenix intercepted the curse.
It burst into ashes.
From the ashes, a small, featherless chick emerged.
Dawn was not surprised. He had already accounted for Fawkes. Without hesitation, he cast again.
°Avada Kedavra°
Another flash of green.
But...
Fawkes reappeared in a burst of flame and took the curse again.
Dawn frowned. He grabbed the phoenix and cast once more. Still, Dumbledore remained unharmed.
Fawkes slipped free and intercepted the curse for a third time.
Dawn lowered his wand.
Transforming the snow beneath Dumbledore into sharp spikes, he drove them upward.
Blood spilled.
Fawkes hurried to his side, tears dripping from its eyes, healing the wounds.
It tried to carry Dumbledore away, but as a fledgling, it could not. Instead, it spread its wings, shielding him and crying out.
Dawn exhaled.
He appreciated the immortality of a phoenix when it was his ally, but as an enemy, it was truly troublesome.
Then, a soft clatter sounded.
Something had fallen.
Dawn looked down. A simple, rune-etched diadem lay on the ground.
"Ravenclaw's Diadem?"
His eyes lit up.
As Dumbledore transformed, the items he carried were falling away. Dawn picked up the diadem.
Then he noticed the Elder Wand still clutched in Dumbledore's partially transformed hand.
He reached for it.
If he couldn't kill him, he could at least take his tools.
But the moment his fingers touched the rough wood, a freezing chill spread through his body.
As if he had been plunged into ice.
This... a Killing Curse?
The familiar sensation stunned him.
Then, laughter rang out.
At the entrance of the Great Hall, a fourth-year Slytherin stepped forward, face twisted.
"Dawn Richter, die! This is my repayment to you!"
His voice was filled with madness.
___________
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