— — — — — —
New York's day passed in chaos.
Wizards were everywhere, casting Memory Charms and repairing the destruction left behind by the battle.
At the tips of their wands flickered faint blue light as shattered steel beams and broken concrete, glass reduced to glittering debris, slowly drifted back to where they belonged—like time itself running in reverse.
The air around them still carried traces of turbulent magic, but that wasn't what had them shaken.
Today, they had witnessed history.
One powerful figure had been turned into pulp. Another had vanished without a trace.
The uncertainty left many people deeply unsettled.
Just listening to a few wizards repairing a damaged skyscraper was enough to hear the anxiety about what might come next.
"Mr. Pierce… was he really killed by Dumbledore?" a young witch asked nervously. Her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped her wand. "I heard he left a letter for his family. No one knows what it said."
"He jumped off the building," a middle-aged wizard replied grimly, unconsciously tightening his grip on the wand at his waist. "But jumping has two kinds—willing and forced. Do you really think Pierce would throw himself off a building?"
"But what about Quahog? Where did he go? He didn't even say anything bad about Dumbledore's sister… Don't tell me Dumbledore also—"
The witch shivered halfway through the sentence and couldn't bring herself to finish it.
"That's not something people like us should worry about."
The oldest wizard among them sighed.
"Just do your job. Don't get involved in anything related to people like Grindelwald or Dumbledore."
"Never talk to me about professional ideals or defending justice. You all have families behind you. Keeping them safe is your first responsibility. Family comes first—then the wizarding world. Understand?"
The old man's words made the younger wizards stiffen. They nodded solemnly.
---
England - Nicolas Flamel's estate
By the time Tom and the others returned, it was already late at night. Dumbledore had come with them.
Going back to Hogwarts meant facing the storm that was sure to follow. Mentally exhausted, old Dumbles simply wanted somewhere quiet to hide for the night.
"You lot might be looking for peace and quiet, but this old man needs to sleep."
Nicolas Flamel sat in a massage chair, wearing a star-patterned night robe, looking quite displeased that Dumbledore had treated his home like a storm shelter.
Still, the chance to watch the drama unfold was tempting enough. After a few grumbles, he let it go.
"Where's Perenelle?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring Nicolas's complaints as he looked around.
"She went to Paris with Tina," Nicolas replied casually while sipping coffee.
A complete lie.
Perenelle was currently asleep in the bedroom. Nicolas simply didn't want Dumbledore learning about the Golden Apple just yet, so he kept quiet.
Dumbledore didn't press further. He relaxed, emptied his mind, and drank his honey water.
Hmm?
Why had he never noticed before how sweet honey water was?
On second thought… better not drink too much.
Too many sweets weren't good for the body.
Beside him, Tom held a thin strand of silvery memory between his fingers and lowered it into a crystal basin.
The container immediately glowed with a soft light, and a flowing silver image appeared in midair.
Everything that had happened that day replayed clearly like a three-dimensional projection. The details were so sharp that even the texture of flying debris during the battle could be seen.
Dumbledore used the opportunity to reexamine Quetzalcoatl's power from an observer's perspective.
"That power is strange," he said as they watched. "It strongly suppresses my magic. I could barely harm it… and I didn't even realize it was only a phantom avatar."
Nicolas Flamel nodded.
A notebook floated beside him automatically, recording every rune that flashed around Quetzalcoatl when it used its power.
The runes glowed faint gold on the page.
He recognized only a small portion of them—ancient Aztec magical script.
...
Even after the battle ended, the projection continued. Only then did Dumbledore finally learn what had happened between Tom and Quahog after he had left.
Quite the dramatic display of loyalty and heartfelt sincerity.
When the memory reached the moment Tom stuffed Quahog into a dragon-hide pouch expanded with an Undetectable Extension Charm, Dumbledore looked surprised.
Tom shook his head and tapped his temple. "You saw it yourself just now. Quahog can reveal very little. Most of the real secrets are hidden in his soul and mind."
"The secrecy magic on him is similar to the Fidelius Charm. The difference is that even if Quahog wants to tell the truth, he physically can't say it. And a lot of his memories were extracted and hidden somewhere else."
Tom frowned.
"Honestly… it's a real headache."
Suddenly, a name crossed his mind.
Horace Slughorn.
The former head of Slytherin House. Voldemort's old teacher.
The former head of Slytherin House. Voldemort's old teacher. The man whose conversation had strengthened Voldemort's determination to create multiple Horcruxes.
Later, when Slughorn realized he had accidentally helped create a disaster, he went into hiding and pulled that memory out of his mind, carefully sealing it away.
"Be careful of retaliation from the Magical Congress, Tom," Dumbledore warned. "Quahog has been the president for nearly ten years. He has quite a few supporters."
Tom looked at him in confusion. "Professor… what does that have to do with me?"
"Pierce jumped from the building… but anyone with common sense knows what really happened. Do you think they'll blame Quahog's disappearance on me?"
The worried look on Dumbledore's face froze.
"Uh..." Nicolas blinked, then his old face crumpled as he struggled not to laugh. He was honestly worried Dumbledore might lose his mind.
Because Dumbledore already had.
"Tom… doesn't your conscience hurt at all doing something like this?"
"Professor, you're overthinking it." Tom stood up and patted Dumbledore on the shoulder with a sigh of sympathy. "If you're already carrying one pot, what's wrong with carrying two? In fact, two pots might make you feel safer. Why not think of yourself as a torch? Hold yourself up high and light the way for me."
With that, Tom swayed off toward his room, perfectly satisfied, and went to sleep with the little witch in his arms.
The two old men sat there, completely stunned by Tom's shamelessness.
After who knew how long, they both suddenly turned their heads and looked at each other.
Then they spoke in unison. "Look at the student you raised!"
"..." x2
---
The next morning, Tom carried a cup of coffee into the courtyard.
A house-elf appeared silently and set a delicate silver tray on the small round table. On it were golden slices of toasted bread and soft-boiled eggs.
Thick morning fog draped over the mountainside like gauze. Pine and cypress trees appeared and disappeared in the mist, and the occasional cry of birds added a little life to the quiet landscape.
Then suddenly, the sounds vanished.
All the birds fell silent. The fog began to churn and roll as if pulled by an invisible force.
"Ruuu~"
Usaki slipped soundlessly through the mist. Her dark scales glimmered coldly in the morning haze.
She opened her mouth and spat out a large chunk of flesh with a wing still attached.
Then she lowered her big head in front of Tom and gently rubbed against his arm. Her amber eyes looked watery and pitiful.
"Wuu…"
"Shoo, shoo. You haven't even brushed your teeth. You stink of blood."
Tom pushed her big head away in disgust.
Normally Usaki would roll around and beg for comfort. But yesterday her roar had nearly exposed the wizarding world, and she hadn't even fully finished the task Tom assigned her.
Feeling guilty, Usaki drooped her ears and shrank back a little. She pawed softly at the ground, hoping Tom would notice how pitiful she looked.
Hearing the commotion outside, Nicolas and Dumbledore hurried over. Both were still wearing their robes, relying on temperature charms to keep out the chill of the early morning.
Their eyes immediately fell on the severed wing.
Blood seeped from the flesh, thick and dark. It was so dense it almost looked solid, like clusters of flowing rubies. When droplets fell to the ground, they made dull, heavy sounds.
"That aura…" Dumbledore murmured with a grave expression. "It's the same."
Even a fragment of the corpse carried far more pressure than Quetzalcoatl's avatar from yesterday.
Casting a spell was hard. Just pointing a wand at the dead flesh required tremendous courage.
Nicolas Flamel felt worse. The old man was far weaker than Dumbledore. At this moment he was already struggling to breathe, his brows deeply furrowed.
Noticing this, Tom flicked his wand into the air.
"Hakuna Matata."
The wand spun above the chunk of flesh and released a faint golden barrier that sealed off the oppressive aura.
"Well… now I completely believe you when you say you ran into a god," Nicolas said with a sigh.
"Usaki, you couldn't keep it?" Tom asked, looking at his little dragon.
Usaki lifted her head and let out a string of grumbling roars, her voice full of frustration and annoyance.
Dumbledore and Nicolas watched in total confusion as Tom nodded repeatedly.
"I see…"
"See what?" Dumbledore couldn't help asking.
Tom kindly acted as translator.
"Usaki found Quetzalcoatl's real body in Panama. It wasn't her opponent. Halfway through the fight it realized it couldn't win, so it ran."
Tom paused.
"It escaped… from this time and space."
"Escaped… time and space?"
.
.
.