Allen had witnessed death many times before. In fact, he had taken dozens of lives himself, but to him, those people were always enemies, strangers.
This was the first time someone familiar had died beside him. Even though they'd never introduced themselves, Allen knew who he was, what he did, and why he had died.
He crouched beside the body, careful not to touch it, not just out of respect for the dead, but also to avoid leaving any trace that might alert Dumbledore that someone had been here.
Allen had no doubt that Dumbledore would win this battle. Not even Voldemort in his prime could claim certain victory over the greatest white wizard of the age, let alone this weakened version, a mere fragment of the Dark Lord's former self, drawn out from a Horcrux.
From the surroundings, it was clear this man had died in battle, even if there were barely any signs of struggle.
Allen gave the man one final look, ready to move on and observe the nearby fight. Even in this diminished form, Voldemort was dangerous enough to force Dumbledore to get serious, and Allen wanted to witness the full extent of the headmaster's true power.
But as he cast that last glance, Allen froze.
He spotted a faint black outline on the man's left arm.
Cautiously, Allen used his wand to lift the sleeve, and there it was: a symbol he had never seen before, yet somehow knew all too well.
A skull, its mouth wide open, with a serpent slithering out.
The Dark Mark.
And in that instant, everything made sense.
This man, he had been a Death Eater.
No wonder Voldemort reacted so violently to the sight of that young Slytherin boy who looked so much like his father. There was no doubt that the fragment of the Dark Lord in the Horcrux had seen the man's face.
The Voldemort that emerged from the diary had been a memory of his youth, while the one from the diadem was from his proudest era, the time when he was brimming with dark knowledge and actively pursuing a Hogwarts teaching position to exert influence over the wizarding world.
That version of Voldemort wasn't the pitiful wretch clinging to life and hiding from death. He hadn't yet learned patience from years of being hunted down by Dumbledore after his fall. This was a version who couldn't tolerate betrayal.
To him, casting a Cruciatus Curse was merciful. He wanted to tear the traitors apart with his own hands.
So when he saw one of his former, cowardly servants now daring to join the assault against him, Voldemort's rage exploded. He acted without restraint, why he was so agitated, Allen still couldn't say, but the outcome was clear. He struck. And that drew Dumbledore's attention.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
When Allen finally crept closer, Voldemort, if that shapeless thing could even be called him, was clearly at a severe disadvantage.
He had no wand, no body, and yet was still managing to hold his own against Dumbledore, which surprised Allen deeply.
The Dark Lord hid behind a shimmering silver shield, barely fending off Dumbledore's relentless assault.
Around Dumbledore stood three towering tree guardians, their branch-covered arms swatting away Voldemort's feeble counterattacks.
Dumbledore, for his part, still had the leisure to speak.
"So it's you again… Tom?"
With his words, a faint pink spell shot from his wand. As it passed by one of the tree guardians, its branches vanished completely, as if they had never existed.
The next instant, the spell hit Voldemort's shield with a sound like molten metal clashing, loud and jarring.
Unfortunately, the silver shield proved much tougher than it looked. The powerful spell merely dimmed its glow, allowing Voldemort to retaliate.
A wisp of black smoke curled from his wand, slowly forming into a snake before burrowing into the earth.
Allen didn't know where it went, but an ominous feeling urged him to retreat. After backing away several meters, the serpent suddenly burst from the ground beside Dumbledore and exploded.
Thick smoke spread out. The vegetation it touched withered almost instantly, the leaves turning yellow, then shriveling midair before they could even fall.
Though Dumbledore quickly summoned a ring of fire that incinerated the poison cloud, the damage was done. The three massive trees were already affected, the branches that had protected Dumbledore were now lifeless and dry, as if a light breeze could reduce them to dust.
At last, Voldemort found the strength to roar in reply.
"You're always like this, Dumbledore! Yes, it was me! All of it! And today, I can finally tell you, YOU ARE DEAD!"
Dumbledore responded not with fury, but with magic. Vines erupted madly from the earth, attempting to entangle Voldemort. It seemed the headmaster wasn't aiming to kill him, just to imprison him.
"Tom," he said softly, "I don't know what kind of foolishness gave you the courage to cause trouble in my school again. But today, I'll correct the mistake I made all those years ago."
But to Dumbledore's surprise, the vines had no effect.
The malformed being that barely resembled a man, its only features two glowing red slits where eyes should be, seeped through the gaps like sand, escaping the trap.
Then, in a blur, the sand-like mass shot straight toward Dumbledore!
But again, it failed.
With a burst of fire, Dumbledore reappeared just outside the protective circle formed by the three tree guardians.
Suddenly, the three colossal trunks slammed together with a force like high-speed trains colliding. The crash echoed like thunder, sending a cascade of leaves into the air. Allen instinctively covered his ears.
When the dust settled, the trees lay fallen, their final duty complete.
But Voldemort still lived.
He clung to a battered, barely intact shield. The misshapen figure that passed for his body had lost its left arm, and yellow sand scattered around him like spilled ashes. He looked utterly wretched.
And yet, he laughed.
Like a lunatic.
"Dumbledore, is that all you've got? HAHAHA! You can't kill me! I will return!"
A blast of dark green fire exploded around him, devouring everything nearby.
Then, Voldemort transformed into a stream of yellow sand and vanished into the distance.
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