"Dumbledore?"
Voldemort's eyelids trembled.
When he uttered Dumbledore's name, even his hoarse voice trembled slightly, though he tried his best to control it, making the change almost imperceptible.
"It is I."
Dumbledore's deep voice echoed across the battlefield.
He nodded slightly.
Dressed in white robes, he appeared abruptly behind a stone pillar amid the ruins, then slowly walked to the front of the group.
The surrounding faculty and students seemed to freeze in place.
A profound silence descended.
Then the silence erupted into enthusiastic cheers.
"The Headmaster isn't dead!"
The students were extremely excited.
Dumbledore wore a long gold-and-red robe, its edges embroidered with strange patterns and profound symbols in silver thread, making him appear extraordinarily dignified.
His weathered, deeply lined face bore the marks of time.
His broken nose remained unchanged, yet he looked remarkably energetic, with his long silver-white beard almost touching the ground.
That deep, captivating voice was all too familiar to the students of Hogwarts.
"Grindelwald, is he one of your men?" Voldemort asked coldly, now realizing that he had stepped into a trap.
"No. What do you mean, I'm his man?"
Another voice came from afar, clearly expressing dissatisfaction at being treated as though he were under someone else's control.
"However, I am now on Albus's side."
From another corner of the ruins, Grindelwald, dressed in black robes, slowly moved toward the centre of the field.
He raised his wand toward Voldemort.
"It's unbelievable that someone would be willing to pledge allegiance to the enemy who imprisoned them for decades."
"Anti-Apparition magic is active throughout Hogwarts. Unless you can break the magic established by the four founders, the only way you can leave today is by killing us."
"Or we can kill you and bury you here. This school isn't a suitable place for you. Your soul would pollute this land."
Dumbledore shrugged.
"What a joke."
Voldemort spoke dismissively.
He was facing two wizards whose abilities were no less than his own.
In a battle of this level, his subordinates were practically powerless to intervene, while the opposing side also had several professors whose fighting abilities were only a level below the three of them.
The scattered sparks in the air gradually solidified, transforming into a ferocious lion engulfed in flames.
It stood menacingly before the Dark Lord.
Blocking his escape route, Voldemort's wand slammed downward.
The lion's body was composed entirely of flames, its bushy golden-red mane resembling wisps of fire.
A rapidly intensifying chill gathered before Voldemort, temporarily suppressing the lion's arrogance.
The robust golden-red lion roared furiously, then rebounded with even greater ferocity.
Its flames grew increasingly intense, as though its thick golden fur had instantly grown back, blazing with fierce fire.
Sparks even reached Voldemort's black robes and set them alight.
A fierce wind could either extinguish a raging fire or cause it to grow wildly.
Everything depended on the intention of the person casting the spell.
For Grindelwald, the latter was naturally the better choice.
Voldemort's pale face immediately contorted with rage.
His thin, blood-red lips parted slightly in fury, and with a flick of his wrist, the flames clinging to his black robes were extinguished.
A few burnt ashes drifted down through the air.
He hadn't been injured in a long time.
Yet now, he had been burned by the scorching flames.
The faint stinging sensation was not enough to drive him into a frenzy.
What truly infuriated him was the unbearable humiliation.
"Get out of here!"
He roared.
His wand moved faster and faster.
A thick earth serpent burst from the ground and began fighting the lion.
Mud and sand piled up higher and higher, as though they intended to bury the fiery lion completely.
"A sudden gust of wind!"
Grindelwald pointed his wand toward the stalemate on the battlefield.
A swift hurricane swept across the field.
The flames, fuelled by the wind, suddenly expanded several times in size.
The fiery mane became even more luxuriant.
The earth serpent was scorched and cracked.
The stiff clods of earth fractured layer by layer until they crumbled and were reduced to ordinary soil.
Voldemort was constantly forced onto the defensive by the attacks of the two men.
The lush green grass of the Quidditch pitch was completely uprooted.
The soft grass caught fire, and the flames rapidly spread, instantly forming a sea of fire that continued to expand.
The entire sky above the pitch seemed to burn red.
The dazzling light even illuminated the gloomy sky.
In an instant, crimson clouds filled the heavens, as bright as daylight.
The flames swept outward like a whirlwind.
Dumbledore gently waved his hand.
A dark cloud nearby suddenly accelerated, rushing toward the Quidditch pitch.
Large raindrops began gathering, condensing the dust in the air before pouring down.
The long droplets were no longer spherical.
They resembled transparent arrows, whistling through the air.
Water and fire mingled, producing continuous hissing sounds.
The water froze into ice.
Flickering flames danced within the ice, their light gradually dimming as the layers of ice blocked them.
A peculiar landscape emerged.
Voldemort snorted coldly.
The flames died down, but the ice began cracking and falling.
Then it suddenly took shape in mid-air, coalescing into a ferocious ice serpent.
Chunks of ice transformed into enormous serpents, which danced wildly across the scorched ground, roaring as they charged toward the two old men.
A sudden gust of wind swept across the field, causing the sleeves of Grindelwald's long robes to flutter and rustle behind him.
With a flick of his wand, Grindelwald uprooted a towering tree from the Forbidden Forest.
It resembled an enormous sword.
He sent it crashing into the rapidly moving ice serpent, piercing straight through its body.
Splinters flew everywhere.
The serpent twisted and struggled several times before transforming into a pile of ice shards that flew backward toward Voldemort.
Voldemort was struggling to keep up.
Barely managing to defend himself against two wizards—especially one whose strength was no less than his own—he was under immense pressure.
Suddenly, his body froze.
A curse struck him from an extremely difficult angle.
Normally, a simple Apparition would have been enough to avoid it.
But the spell was too fast, leaving Voldemort no time to react.
He fell backward onto the grass.
His body seemed to have been petrified, yet he still gripped his wand tightly.
His resentful gaze remained fixed on the two men who had led him step by step into their trap.
"We won!"
"We won!"
The surrounding students erupted into deafening cheers.
The Quidditch pitch itself had never witnessed such a terrifying uproar, not even during the most important Quidditch match.
"Tom, it's all over."
Dumbledore stood not far from Voldemort, his hands behind his back.
He shook his head and sighed.
"That's not necessarily true."
Voldemort retorted.
Then he closed his eyes and relaxed his arms, as though offering his neck for execution.
"Expelliarmus!"
The old man's wand struck Voldemort's prone body once again.
Without any resistance, the Elder Wand slipped from Voldemort's hand.
It was tossed high into the air, tracing a graceful arc through the sky.
It was over.
Even if he was the Dark Lord, what could he do after losing his wand?
What Dumbledore did not see was that the moment the wand left his hand, an unfathomable smile appeared on Voldemort's face.