Under the dim evening sky, Kael was racing forward on his Broomstick.
Dumbledore followed behind him, except he wasn’t using any Magic Items for support.
Kael had originally intended to wait for him, but Dumbledore clearly had no intention of sharing one broom with him; he simply sprang up from the ground and flew out.
A gust-like Magic surrounded Dumbledore’s feet, bearing him as he soared freely through the air, his movements even smoother than Vinda Rosier’s when Kael had met her.
And his speed wasn’t slow either; he stayed right on Kael’s tail, occasionally even turning his head to glance at him.
“It’s fine, you don’t need to slow down for me, I can keep up.” Dumbledore said.
His voice, carried through the howling wind, became much fainter, but to Kael’s ears it was extremely grating.
What do you mean you can keep up… so what if you can fly.
All right, being able to fly is indeed impressive.
Kael had to admit, among all Magic, Flying Magic was the rarest, yet also the most useful; whether in direct confrontation or when running for your life, it could play a decisive role.
But such Magic was far too rare; there wasn’t a single record of it in the school library, not even in the Restricted Area. Most Flying Magic was created by exceptionally gifted Wizards themselves.
For example, Voldemort had a kind of Magic that turned him into black mist. From a distance it looked somewhat like an Obscurus; it allowed short-distance flight and could also be used in tandem with Apparition.
Those Death Eaters he trusted also knew this Magic; when they used it together, it was like storm clouds sweeping past, suffocatingly oppressive.
And Grindelwald’s followers could do it too. Back in that forest, Kael had already witnessed it, and he’d suffered quite a bit for it.
Well… thinking about it, it made sense: since Grindelwald could fly, Dumbledore, who had been locked in a love-and-war struggle with him for decades, couldn’t have spent all that time chasing him on foot, could he? Knowing Flying Magic was only logical.
Kael took another look at Dumbledore and felt a hot twinge behind his eyes.
He wanted to learn.
Of course, now was definitely not the time; Kael planned to wait until this whole affair was over and then ask Dumbledore about it.
Even if he couldn’t get the Phoenix, learning a Flying Magic would barely make up for it.
The two of them flew on like that until they finally stopped just outside Godric’s Hollow. Kael was the first to jump off the broom. Ahead lay a small patch of woods; there wasn’t a single person inside, yet Kael could clearly sense the danger hiding nearby.
It was too quiet—so quiet there weren’t even any insect chirps. That was very abnormal.
Suddenly, something shot toward him at high speed and grabbed Kael’s shoulder.
The attacker’s strength was great; clutching Kael, they flew straight into the depths of the woods.
As Kael was carried off, a distinct black figure appeared in the sky.
Dumbledore, who had been about to rescue him, stopped short, his expression turning grave as he lifted his head.
“Tom…”
“My dear professor, you really are here.” Voldemort hovered in midair, his scarlet eyes locked tightly onto Dumbledore below.
“You knew I would come?” Dumbledore asked in a low voice.
“No.” Voldemort’s lips curled, “But that doesn’t stop me from trying my luck. After all, you’ve always thought highly of that filthy Werewolf. If I killed him on this particular day, perhaps you’d come to avenge him.”
“Remus possesses a pure and kind soul.” Dumbledore said coldly.
“A Werewolf’s soul, pure… ha, how ridiculous…”
Voldemort raised his Wand; a streak of green light fell from the sky, hurtling toward Dumbledore.
Dumbledore turned, his robes swirling sharply—and vanished.
“Come, my dear professor, let’s continue the battle we left unfinished.” Voldemort laughed wildly, sending another bolt of green light at Dumbledore. “Your greatest advantage has already fallen into my hands. Do you really think you can still stop me?”
“A wand has never been what decides victory.” Dumbledore appeared behind Voldemort and gently swung his arm. Voldemort dodged on instinct, and the Charm struck the cliff face behind him.
Whatever Charm Dumbledore had used, a broad crack over ten feet long immediately opened in the cliff wall.
“Too slow, professor, far too slow…”
Voldemort grinned viciously. “Ever since you lost the Elder Wand, every one of your movements reeks of old age. You’re a far cry from what you used to be.”
He swung his Wand again, and an unnatural gale instantly whipped up around them, then gathered, ravaging everything nearby.
Wherever the gale passed, every tree, every rock was sucked into it and ground to dust.
Dumbledore calmly avoided it as ever.
“Looks like you’re not doing so well yourself, Tom. Resorting to these large-scale Charms just to put on a show?” He chuckled. “Or do you think this is enough to scare me?”
As if deliberately trying to provoke Voldemort, Dumbledore then raised his voice and said:
“I’m quite curious—how did the half-leg I shattered grow back? Don’t tell me you’re keeping a Five-Legged Monster and grafted one of its legs on. No wonder there’s always that stench.”
“Shut up!”
Voldemort’s eyes burned even redder. He hadn’t expected Dumbledore to become so… talkative, and his composure just detonated.
Back when they were fighting over the Elder Wand, one of his legs had been hit by Dumbledore’s Charm and snapped on the spot, sending him tumbling into a garbage-filled ditch.
He had always regarded that incident as a humiliation.
Now that Dumbledore had said it to his face, how could he possibly stay calm.