Chapter 251: The Melancholy Ending

"But what about the future?" Ron said anxiously. "According to you, the Soviet Union is growing stronger, yet we still have to fight the Death Eaters."

"We must grow stronger. If we could become as powerful as Dumbledore, even if the Soviets hold some technological advantages, they wouldn't dare act rashly," Harry said, lips pressed tight. "Next, we deal with the Death Eaters—and we'll need the Ministry to negotiate with the Cabinet. But the most crucial thing is our own strength. Only with strength can others listen to you."

Though the future was uncertain, for a long time Harry believed Voldemort's infamy would scare off the Soviets and deter them from acting against Britain. This window might be long enough for Harry to grow into a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore—or perhaps, just enough for him to appear as powerful.

And that was why he could sleep peacefully now.

Early the next morning, as Harry and Ron had just risen and were about to eat breakfast before visiting Zhang Qiu, Snape entered the dining car with a cold expression.

"Potter, come to the engine car in half an hour," he said in an unyielding tone. "Someone is looking for you."

Perhaps noticing Harry's grim face, he added, "It's not bad news."

"Even if it is good news, coming from him, it's hardly good anymore," Ron muttered after Snape left.

"Don't talk like that, Ron," Harry sighed, shaking his head. "For a long time to come, he'll be our headmaster."

When Harry entered the headmaster's carriage at the front of the train, he saw a short, sturdy man with pale skin, dressed in a gray-brown wizard's robe.

"Hello, Harry," he said flatly. "I am Rodolphus Lestrange, the new headmaster of Durmstrang."

Upon hearing the name, Harry instantly went on alert—he remembered Sirius had mentioned this man was Voldemort's true weapon.

"What do you want?" Harry studied the man, memorizing his features.

"I want you to tell everyone that Karkaroff didn't flee—he tried to attack Grindelwald and was killed by him," Rodolphus said. "A headmaster who flees brings shame to Durmstrang."

"Agree to him, Harry. I'll give Gryffindor fifty points for it," Snape said indifferently.

"I'd love those fifty points, but plenty of people saw him Apparate away himself," Harry replied.

"I've persuaded everyone else. Only you remain," Rodolphus said stiffly. "Please."

"I don't want to lie, but I promise you this: if no one asks, I won't speak. And if someone does ask, I'll say I don't remember—I wasn't paying attention," Harry said, unwilling to argue over this.

"Fine," Rodolphus's eye twitched. "Then I'll take my leave. Thank you, Severus."

Rodolphus picked up the black cloak hanging on the rack, then opened the carriage door and stepped out.

"We should depart," Snape said. "Finish the award ceremony early and get back sooner."

The revered Dumbledore and the infamous Voldemort perished together; the notorious Grindelwald, after escaping prison, came to their battlefield and killed himself. Moreover, the British Ministry of Magic caused a terrible blunder, rendering all time magic ineffective worldwide. There were too many news stories to report; reporters rushed to interview experts and write articles, leaving the Triwizard Tournament award ceremony slightly dull.

And because Fleur and Elina placed third, even Beauxbatons students showed little interest in attending. Meanwhile, Durmstrang students were unsettled by their headmaster's change, leaving the audience seats nearly empty.

"Too much has happened in this year's Triwizard Tournament," Madame Maxime said on the podium, forcing a smile. "Yet we must still hold this award ceremony and, as per tradition, present the trophy and prize money to the champions: Renata Yevgenyevna Chichilina and Viktor Krum."

"In these turbulent times, we need outstanding young talent. I hope you will all strive with vigor and courage—that is the true meaning of the Triwizard Tournament." She uttered a few perfunctory words no one cared about, then declared the ceremony over and hurried off to attend to other matters.

"We should return too," Snape said. "The train departs at one p. ."

Snape did not return with the train—he Apparated away somewhere on his own. To the conductors, it made no difference who the headmaster was; they simply ran their train. Harry and Ron sat in the swaying carriage; Cedric wanted solitude, Zhang Qiu remained unconscious, and the once-bustling compartment now held only the two of them.

"Harry, you said you plan to grow stronger—but how?" Ron asked.

"Think of Dumbledore," Harry recalled everything about him. "He mastered Transfiguration as effortlessly as moving his own limbs, making it his greatest specialty. Beyond that, he understood every subject—even reaching levels beyond ordinary wizards."

"I believe to become a powerful wizard, you must do exactly this," Harry said. "Study every subject seriously, then delve deeply into the one you excel in."

"Even Dark Magic?"

"I'd bet Dumbledore knew Dark Magic inside and out—he simply chose not to use it," Harry said, pulling out Grindelwald's notebook. "We mustn't casually try magic we don't understand—but neither must we refuse to understand it simply because we won't use it."

"That makes sense," Ron picked up the notebook and flipped through it. "Merlin's beard, what's this? Fiendfyre?"

"This is still too advanced for us right now. Maybe we can study it in seventh year," Harry closed it. "Moody is a highly skilled professor. Let's master his teachings first."

Yet after returning to school, they found Moody packing his bags, preparing to say goodbye.

"I won't be teaching you next year. Damn it, this position is cursed—now both my eyes are fake," he said, wearing dark glasses to spare the children from his appearance.

"This isn't like Moody," Harry murmured, puzzled—but Voldemort hadn't truly died, and the curse still lingered. He couldn't just urge Moody to endure it and stay.

That night, in the silent Great Hall, Snape stood at the headmaster's table and spoke in a dull tone: "Another year is ending."

"I must sadly announce that we have lost a fine man—he should be standing here, speaking to you in my place," Snape said. "Now, please rise and raise your glasses in honor of our beloved headmaster, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

Everyone—calm-faced, somber, quietly weeping—raised their glasses and spoke together: "To Headmaster Dumbledore."

"His passing was sudden. The Ministry and professors need time to respond and handle the aftermath. Some information the Ministry deems public will be published soon," Snape stated objectively. "Until term's end, I will temporarily serve as headmaster, and I will hold Dumbledore's funeral next Thursday."

"I believe the professors have no heart for exams, and the students have no will to take them. This year's final exams are canceled," he added. "Now, please begin your meal. No matter how complicated your feelings, life must go on."

With that, Snape sat down and silently began cutting his meat.

Gryffindor's table did not remain silent long. Soon, everyone began pressing Harry for details about the Triwizard Tournament. Harry gave vague answers: Dumbledore and Voldemort died together.

"But I care about the Battle of Hogwarts," Harry said, seeing Neville sitting nearby. "What happened here?"

"Not much," Neville said. "We all came out and faced a large group of Death Eaters—then Grindelwald appeared and drew everyone's attention."

"He said he wanted someone to tell him where Dumbledore was. Then Snape stepped forward and told him Dumbledore was in Tranzerro. Grindelwald spoke a few more words to him, then left immediately."

"Once he was gone, most Death Eaters began retreating—they didn't seem to intend to attack. Only about a dozen kept charging us, but we overwhelmed them easily. Only a few suffered minor injuries; Moody was the worst off—his last remaining eye was hit, but he refused treatment, insisting getting another magical eye was a better idea."

"Later, the Death Eaters left one by one. Of course, we only learned later that the main force attacking Hogwarts was the Death Eaters' allies—the Saints. The Death Eaters tricked them and their master into coming here, but they weren't foolish enough to fight for someone else's cause," Neville said. "Or perhaps—even with their bitter hatred, Grindelwald looked down on attacking Hogwarts."

"They had a grudge, yes—Dumbledore was the one who defeated him," Harry mused. "But the Grindelwald I saw said he was Dumbledore's friend, just having a minor falling-out."

"Who knows? Those are ancient stories," Neville shrugged. "Either way, I'm glad their plan failed."

Harry nodded. Perhaps the answer still lay buried in his memories.