A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

"We're keeping up!" whispered Sirius, his voice low. "Remember, we're not here for a fight. I've battled Voldemort and know how terrifying his power is. We need to rendezvous first with the headmaster, Felix, or anyone from the Ministry, and convey Harry's thoughts to them." He paused briefly, his tone growing somber. "You're all students, but you're also the most resolute warriors. I hope you'll grow from this. No matter how much I teach in class, nothing compares to real experience. So please, don't risk your lives."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville nodded silently, sensing a different atmosphere than their usual classroom setting.

"Boom!"

A distant, colossal sound reverberated, resembling the collapse of a mountain.

"That's the direction Fawkes departed. Professors and Dumbledore might be there," said Harry.

They hastened their pace, navigating through debris scattered across the streets—fragments of buildings, furniture of unknown origins, books, cages, clothes. They scaled obstacles with apprehension, thankfully finding no bodies.

"There!"

In the distance, hundreds of wizards gathered, seemingly the entire population of Hogsmeade. Fawkes soared ahead, sprinkling sparks of light along the way, finally settling on a rusty frame beneath a weathered wooden sign.

"The Hog's Head Inn."

Exchanging glances, they were intrigued by Fawkes' choice. Harry approached, peering through a gaping hole in the window. A sudden waft of a strong animal odor nearly overwhelmed him. Tables near the entrance lay dusty, the floor grimy, smeared with greasy stains.

The dimly lit inn revealed a solitary figure. Harry's jaw dropped—it was Dumbledore!

How was he here? Wasn't he supposed to be outside fighting? Was this a one-on-one confrontation between Voldemort and Dumbledore? Did Dumbledore advocate fair combat? Harry's mind swirled in confusion. He didn't even hear Sirius calling him as he aimlessly pushed the door open.

Fawkes, perched on the frame, swooped inside, circling the room, seemingly unable to find a resting place, finally alighting on Dumbledore's shoulder.

"Harry? What did you see?" Sirius and the others cautiously followed, aided by the faint glow of a few small candles, spotting the lone figure in the room. "Headmaster Dumbledore?" they exclaimed incredulously.

"Ah, it's you," Dumbledore said softly, turning to glance at Fawkes on his shoulder, reproach in his tone. "You shouldn't have brought them here."

Fawkes emitted a low, plaintive cry.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, we have crucial information to share," Harry interjected urgently. "Voldemort has obtained Salazar Slytherin's snake-wood wand—"

"I know. Mireva informed me through her guardian," Dumbledore replied calmly, toying with his teacup.

"And also—Headmaster Fontana has been killed by Voldemort."

"I'm aware," Dumbledore murmured. "Professor Fontana... He shouldn't have died."

"I also know how to put the snake-wand into dormancy using Parseltongue. I can help," Harry offered.

"Perhaps not, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, his piercing blue eyes scrutinizing Harry over his spectacles. "You're not the wand's true master. It won't heed you, especially when it's held by its rightful owner. And involving you all in the battle is too risky. I cannot agree."

Harry faltered, unable to find words. His initial excitement at meeting Dumbledore vanished instantly.

"Is it just Professor Snape fighting outside?" Hermione inquired softly.

"Yes, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied calmly, seemingly unaware of the underlying meaning in her question.

"But why—only Professor—Ministry's pride—" Hermione stuttered.

"That's a long story," Dumbledore's tone remained composed. He lowered his head, examining his empty teacup. "For instance, Voldemort didn't choose the battleground we anticipated, and I've dwelled on trivialities before... Perhaps my reactions are slower than usual, and after the incident, I had to divert my attention to protect others... But what's truly kept me here, sipping tea, is Felix's intervention."

"What?" Everyone looked surprised.

"Three people brought me messages today, but Felix's was the most uplifting," Dumbledore explained. "I had to restrain myself... because I know we're not ready, far from it."

"But if you and Professor Snape team up—" Harry urged.

"That's the crux. Defeating or chasing Voldemort away isn't our goal; it's keeping him here," Dumbledore said with a wry smile, gazing at them. "Felix fights outside while I contemplate our strategy, how to make an appearance... I'm aware that even if Felix and I join forces, we won't detain him; it'll only startle him away. I'm thinking about our next meeting, even the final showdown. Should we bolster his confidence, let him feel assured of his victory, or..." He hesitated, recalling the intelligence Felix had shared.

"Felix could see the damaged soul... and there's one unknown Horcrux remaining—the Hufflepuff cup that vanished along with the locket."

"...or make him a nervous wreck, exposing his vulnerabilities," he murmured softly.

The group looked at him puzzled, but Dumbledore showed no inclination to explain. He tilted his head, seemingly interested in the cobwebs on the ceiling.

Time passed in silence.

"Dumbledore suddenly made a move, removing the gloves he had worn for nearly two months, revealing his right hand. His slender palm immediately underwent a transformation—slowly losing moisture, as if consumed by invisible flames, it turned both desiccated and charred, resembling a piece of charcoal just taken from a blazing furnace.

Dumbledore raised his hand, inspecting it closely, then retrieved a black gemstone ring from his pocket and placed it on his finger.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry held his breath, "your hand—"

Was it an illusion? Or was it genuinely injured, hence the constant glove-wearing? His memory sharpened. Dumbledore had been wearing white gloves in every appearance this semester.

"Now is not the time to discuss this," Dumbledore shook his head. "Let's go, it's time to end the battle."

He stood up, emanating a powerful energy.

Though Harry didn't grasp Dumbledore's intent, he knew the headmaster had decided to join the fight. This information was uplifting enough; he already pictured Voldemort fleeing in his mind. They pushed open the dilapidated door and stepped out.

A lean figure in a cloak turned the corner and dashed toward the crowd.

Harry squinted to identify. "It might be Malfoy," he said, surprised. Wasn't he hiding in Madam Puddifoot's tea shop?

"Draco Malfoy? He's here with you?" Dumbledore inquired curiously.

"Yeah," Harry replied vaguely, not wanting the headmaster to delve further. It involved Sirius planning to cast a memory charm on the students, although he knew Snape wouldn't miss a chance to report that. Still, he hoped Dumbledore would learn about it as late as possible.

Fortunately, Dumbledore didn't press further, nodding gently.

"Stay behind the crowd, don't step forward or stand out," Dumbledore cautioned at the door, their heads under the creaking signboard with a boar's head in the wind. "Sirius, keep an eye on them."

"Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore," Sirius whispered. Since he'd entered, he hadn't dared to meet Dumbledore's eyes, despite believing he was right.

The distant battle reached its climax, the earth riddled with holes from various magical traces. They quietly approached, unnoticed, as the mesmerized onlookers wore intoxicated expressions.

The two battling figures were far beyond their comprehension, let alone intervention, as evidenced by a dozen shattered puppet guards who dared to approach.

"Keep your distance, you don't want to be scorched by the fierce fire," Madam Bones shouted. A group of aurors and enforcers shielded the crowd, partitioning the battleground. Standing at the forefront were towering, hefty puppet guards—representing a third of the Ministry's lavish purchase.

These puppet guards uniformly erected magical barriers, enduring the aftermath of the clash.

In the distance, Voldemort's serpentine flame and Felix's dragon, molded from the Bright Fire spell, clashed fiercely. They seemed entirely incompatible, each collision showering red and white flame fragments, scorching the ground black.

Stones continued to crack under the cold air and the fiery burn.

Harry scanned around, finally spotting Malfoy in a corner. He draped himself in a large cloak, thoroughly concealing himself. It was only through those gray eyes and a sharply defined jaw that Harry barely recognized him.

At this moment, Draco Malfoy's eyes were fixed intensely on the battlefield. He vividly experienced the combat prowess and oppression of the world's top wizards—a world apart from what he had seen in his father.

Harry couldn't guess Malfoy's thoughts, but he knew he must be quite excited now, much more than the house-elf perched on a trash can beside him... Wait, where did the house-elf come from?

Which wizard brought it here? Harry wondered blankly."

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