But Dumbledore said nothing more.
The vortex turned faster. The bronze gate groaned as metal ground against unseen forces.
Then, finally, something emerged.
It wasn't a dragon this time.
Hermione gasped, her breath catching in her throat. Even Snape felt the blood drain from his face.
A silver-haired figure emerged from the mist, dressed in deep purple robes embroidered with a constellation of stars.
The same robes worn by the man standing beside them.
It was another Albus Dumbledore.
"This… this is impossible," Snape whispered. His wand trembled in his hand, and the words barely escaped his lips. The ever-composed Potions Master looked utterly pale, the kind of pale that came from seeing something his mind refused to accept.
And truly, who could blame him?
The figure before them was identical in every detail: the long silver beard, the half-moon spectacles glinting in the moonlight, and the purple robes embroidered with stars and moons.
"What's happening, Professor?" Hermione gasped, staring between the two Dumbledores.
The Dumbledore beside her said nothing. His eyes narrowed, cold and assessing.
"Well," said the other Dumbledore, the one who had stepped through the gate, "this is… rather interesting."
His tone was calm. Too calm.
Before anyone could respond, he lifted his wand.
No spell was spoken.
Just raw, unrestrained power.
A torrent of blazing fire burst from his wand and twisted into the form of a massive dragon, which roared as it lunged forward. The heat rolled through the air like a living thing, reducing the trees to ash in its wake.
The real Dumbledore reacted instantly.
There was no river nearby, but that didn't matter. He conjured one from thin air: a rushing surge of water that met the dragon head-on.
The two forces collided with a thunderous roar. Steam erupted in every direction, engulfing the forest in a cloud of blinding mist.
Through the haze, the imposter Dumbledore rose into the air. His wand was pointed skyward.
A heartbeat later, the world exploded with light.
Bolts of lightning rained down from the heavens, splitting the mist and hurtling towards them with terrifying precision.
"This doesn't quite seem like something I would do," the real Dumbledore said calmly.
He swept his wand through the air, and a shimmering barrier unfolded before them. Lightning slammed into the barrier again and again, sending sparks flying like falling stars.
Hermione threw up an arm to shield her eyes. When the glare faded, the sky above had transformed into a storm of magic: light and flame intertwining in a deadly dance.
The two Dumbledores clashed, spell against spell, their power twisting the very air.
"There's nothing that can't be replaced," The Dumbledore from the gate said, his smile faint but his voice colder than stone. "I'll take your place… Only then can I live."
There was intelligence in his eyes, sharp and calculating. Unlike the monstrous dragon Ian had faced earlier, this creature knew what it was doing. And what it wanted.
As for Snape and Hermione, they were collateral damage.
Whatever this creature was, it intended to erase every witness. Its spells were delivered with no hesitation or restraint; each one was intended to kill.
The real Dumbledore understood that instantly. With effortless grace, his wand formed shields of light to protect the two behind him.
"So that's it…" he murmured, half to himself.
Snape had no idea what he meant. He could barely think at all. His wand was still raised, his hand shaking violently. Every instinct told him that he was standing in the middle of a storm far beyond human reach.
"What in Merlin's name is happening?!" He shouted, though even he knew Dumbledore wouldn't answer.
There wasn't a single moment when he could intervene; the speed and force of their spells was overwhelming, and it was like watching the world itself being torn apart.
Snape had always known that Dumbledore was powerful. But seeing him fight like this, like a force of nature, made Snape's stomach twist with awe and fear.
"How did Voldemort ever survive against this?" He muttered under his breath, voice barely audible.
The earth trembled. Trees cracked and split. Jagged ravines opened in the ground as their magic tore through the forest.
Snape and Hermione huddled close together beneath Dumbledore's protective wards, each flash of light reflecting in their wide eyes.
"Th-this… this is Professor Dumbledore's true power?" Hermione's voice shook.
For the first time, she truly understood what people meant when they called him the greatest wizard of the age.
Snape said nothing.
His expression gave little away, but his thoughts were anything but still.
He couldn't help imagining things, as he often did.
If Dumbledore truly wielded such overwhelming power, then perhaps Voldemort's long reign of terror was not due to weakness but choice.
A strategy.
Allowing the enemy to live in order to control the balance and steer the board.
It wasn't impossible to believe.
What else could explain how two wizards of such unequal power had remained in a deadlock for so many years?
Until tonight, Snape had always thought the balance was sixty–forty at best.
Then the other Dumbledore raised his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The words tore through the night. A flash of green split the darkness; the Killing Curse screamed through the air.
The real Dumbledore didn't flinch. His eyes sharpened and the Elder Wand turned in his hand with calm precision. For a moment, it felt as though he had seized control of magic itself and the world had bent to his will.
A moment later, the green light faltered.
The false Dumbledore exhaled softly, almost wistfully. 'So this is what it means to be... legendary.'
Then the curse turned back on him.
A flash of light struck and his body began to dissolve into ash. The ash scattered across the scorched earth like dust in the wind until there was nothing left of him.
The bronze gate shuddered once, then fell silent. The swirling mist within it faded, leaving only silence behind.
"Albus, you…" Snape's voice was hoarse and his breath was unsteady — a rare crack in his usual composure. "That man, the one who looked like you, was he some kind of… copy?"
It sounded absurd, but Hermione's pale face showed that she had been thinking the same thing. Her eyes darted between Dumbledore and the gate; her lips trembled silently.
Dumbledore brushed the ash from his robes. "Rather than a copy," he said softly, "it would be more accurate to call him… a version of me that should never have existed. One of the paths my life could have taken, but didn't."
He gave a faint, weary smile. "Quite extraordinary, isn't it?"
The words hung in the air.
Hermione's breath caught. Snape's eyes narrowed as his mind raced ahead to the obvious, chilling question.
"In that case," he said quietly, "how do we know you're not the one who came out of that door?"
The night seemed to stop breathing.
Dumbledore didn't answer at once. His gaze lingered on the bronze gate, thoughtful and unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he replied simply,
"I can't be sure."
He looked back at them and the familiar, steady light burned in his deep blue eyes.
"But the one who remains," he said at last, his voice calm and absolute, "must be the real me."
The night wind swept through the ruined clearing, carrying the scent of ash and magic. The bronze gate loomed behind them, silent once more.
Dumbledore's words lingered in the air, cool, measured and terrifyingly sure.
(End of Chapter)
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