Chapter 191. The Battle. Part 3. The End.
London. Near the Headquarters of the Ministry of Magic.
Nearly everyone in the alliance froze at the sight: cracks spreading simultaneously across every surface of the barrier. Albus and Harold were more shaken than most, as they knew far more about the barrier than anyone else. It was maintained from the outside, so if it was collapsing, that meant most of the squad maintaining it had been destroyed.
Suspicion immediately fell on Voldemort, who had also positioned his own people there. But when Dumbledore met Riddle's eyes, he quickly dismissed the thought. He had spent years opposing Tom and had learned to read him better than most. Tom looked genuinely displeased, and if he was acting, he was doing it with unusual skill.
Dumbledore's gaze settled on the one remaining candidate: the smiling green-haired wizard. He looked completely unsurprised, and the remaining members of his organization seemed calm, even faintly expectant, which made the answer immediately obvious.
The Headmaster understood what was happening quickly enough. He swept his wand sharply upward and fired a blazing red signal into the sky. Every wizard who saw it reacted instantly, clustering back-to-back with eyes scanning in all directions.
The Dark Lord transformed into black smoke, surged through the second barrier, and materialized five meters from Albus. Behind him appeared several wizards in dark robes and masks: Yaxley, Abraxas Malfoy, Bellatrix Black, and Antonin Dolohov, the four strongest Death Eaters.
Finally, the dome shattered completely.
Several seconds later, a cold, indifferent voice swept across the field, sending chills down the spines of nearly everyone present: "I suggest you bring your little game to a close for today."
A man in his fifties appeared beside Charles, wearing dark robes, his hood drawn up, and holding a wooden staff topped with a red crystal. His crimson eyes radiated a dangerous, malevolent light, and the dark, cold aura surrounding him was enough to make even Dumbledore uncomfortable.
Behind him, wizards appeared one by one, dressed similarly to the ordinary Steel Division members but with one key difference: their patterns were deep blue rather than green, and each bore an embroidered diamond on the chest. Half carried staffs, half carried wands, and a few seemed to have no staff or wand at all.
Eighty-two people materialized in the span of a few seconds. They were outnumbered nearly four to one, but Harold, approaching the front lines, did not immediately give the order to resume the assault. One look at the newcomers was enough to tell him they were considerably more dangerous than anything they'd faced before.
If fighting the first group had already cost them nearly half their wizards, what would happen when they faced these? The outcome might be a costly victory, or it might be a catastrophic defeat born of underestimating the enemy. Either way would devastate the already fragile state of Magical Britain.
Two more men took their places beside the unknown dark wizard. Their uniforms bore a small but distinct difference: each had two diamond insignia on the chest rather than one. Each radiated an aura no less formidable than Charles's own.
Both Albus and Tom felt the weight of the magical pressure immediately. Dumbledore, having experienced a small taste of ihiros's true strength during their meeting, was able to shake it off without great effort. The Dark Lord, however, grew grimmer with every passing second. He had always considered himself the strongest dark wizard alive, and the realization that the wizards standing before him were in no way inferior to him, and one possibly surpassing him, was a genuine blow to his pride.
The unknown wizard regarded them with unconcealed contempt. He cared no more for Magical Britain's wizards than he did for the Steel Division, and if it hadn't been for a direct order from headquarters and the promised reward, they would never have made the detour from Germany to England in the first place.
Besides, he was in no particular hurry to return to headquarters. He still hadn't collected the reward, the one left by both warring sides combined.
Unlike the noseless Riddle, the Black Star's dark wizard saw considerably more: a vast amount of gray aura, like actual fog, hanging over the entire battlefield. As a necromancer, he was intimately attuned to death energy, and only by absorbing it could he grow stronger.
For that very reason, the Diamond Division member had not entered the battle immediately. He had, in fact, arrived ten minutes earlier and spent that time simply watching. The more people died, the more death energy was generated, and the stronger he would become.
The reward, furthermore, had been approved not only by Vitold, the former Steel Division commander, but by the organization's leader himself. The loss of so many ordinary members was no small price, of course. But if that price allowed a wizard ranked among the organization's three most powerful to grow even stronger, the losses were acceptable.
The strongest members of the Steel Division had survived, and they had gained genuine combat experience in a large-scale engagement. That, too, was a very satisfactory result.
Finally, after a minute of deliberation and a clear-eyed reckoning with how much condemnation would come down on him for this decision, Harold said grimly:
"We agree. Continuing to fight will serve no purpose." The moment the words left his mouth, a host of hostile eyes bore into his back. Yet none of those who had come for revenge spoke against it.
This was the Minister of Magic's decision; all the Aurors stood behind it, and Albus Dumbledore had supported it with a nod.
A few seconds later, Tom gave his own silent acknowledgment. Like the Headmaster, he understood that victory with the remaining forces was impossible. The new opponents were stronger than the last, and the alliance fighters were exhausted.
"Excellent." The necromancer glanced to his right, at Charles. "All traces destroyed?"
"Yes." Charles swallowed, visibly tense. The man standing next to him was no ordinary Diamond Division member, not even a captain. He was the division's deputy commander, the third most powerful wizard in the entire organization, surpassed only by his commander, who was also his teacher, and the commander of the Gold Division.
"Good." The sheer arrogance of it, the unspoken implication that they were nothing but dirt beneath his feet, stirred genuine fury in Tom. No one, no one, had ever dared treat Voldemort himself with such open disdain. But despite his anger, he made no move to attack.
He was fully aware of how foolish and irrational it would be. It was outright suicide, and he had no illusions that old foxes like Dumbledore and Harold would do anything to stop it. They would watch with pleasure. The thought was sobering. Riddle was not the only one looking grim. Many wizards on the alliance side felt exactly as he did, and even Albus experienced a brief sting of irritation before suppressing it. He continued to observe the strangers in silence.
A moment later, a green vial appeared in the dark wizard's hand, covered in dried roots. Its shape was strange, irregular, and angular. The alliance members standing nine meters away tensed immediately and gripped their wands.
He ignored their reactions entirely. Uncorking the vial, he shifted his staff into a wand and whispered something, tapping the vial's neck twice. In the next instant, the vial began absorbing the death energy at an astonishing rate, pulling it inward with visible force. Even Tom, the most attuned to necromancy among them, finally sensed the energy concentrating above the unknown wizard, piquing his curiosity.
A minute later, when the final particle of death energy had been drawn inside, the Diamond Division's deputy commander sealed the vial, waved his wand over it twice, and the vial vanished. The wand became a staff once more.
"We're leaving," he said, driving his staff into the ground and vanishing instantly.
One by one, the rest of the organization followed, sweeping up several unconscious but still-breathing wizards from the ground as they departed. Within seconds, only the dead and the living remained: the fallen and those still standing.
Harold finally exhaled. It was not a decisive victory, but it was a victory. They had accomplished the primary objective. They had driven the foreign invaders out of the country.
"Everyone still on their feet, begin assisting the wounded!"
"Yes, Minister!"
The remaining alliance members, Aurors and ordinary citizens of Magical Britain alike, called out in unison. They looked unhappy about it, but got to work.
Most of the surviving wizards were simply relieved that the battle was finally over and that they were alive. But there were others who felt the opposite: those who had lost friends, comrades, people they had fought alongside for years, shared butterbeer after training, and skipped classes back in school.
Everyone understood that war without loss was impossible. But understanding and accepting were different things, and accepting that they would never see those faces again was something no one found easy.
------------------------------------------
Chapters on Patreon progress: Currently at;
1. Harry Potter: Satan? Nah, Just My Family Crest = CHAPTER 374
2.Harry Potter: Beyond Good and Evil in the Wizarding World = CHAPTER 389
3.Harry Potter: Reborn as Draco Black = CHAPTER 195
support me on Patreon for instant access to the 120+ advance chapters: patreon.com/redofic