Jerusalem.
The sky glowed crimson.
Fiendfyre continued to rage, and the growing difference in temperature stirred violent winds that sent Dawn's robes snapping loudly around him.
He turned his head and looked at Flamel's lifeless body lying on the ground.
Although his face remained expressionless, his heart was far less calm than it appeared.
Truthfully, Dawn had experienced more than most.
Over the past year, the number of people who had died by his hand was not large, but neither was it insignificant.
Yet despite becoming accustomed to death, betraying Flamel had struck him differently.
Whether he wished to admit it or not, during the time they had spent together, Flamel had long since become both a mentor and a friend.
Entirely different from the countless strangers who had simply passed through his life.
"Mr. Flamel... this doesn't really count as killing you, does it?"
Dawn murmured quietly.
"You were already dead. Once the Resurrection Stone appears again, sooner or later you'll return to the world of the dead."
Standing on the rooftop's edge, he stared toward the horizon hidden beneath billowing smoke.
For no apparent reason, Neville suddenly came to mind.
Neville had been different too.
Much like Flamel.
Back on the Ferris wheel, Dawn had merely extracted Neville's memories instead of killing the chubby boy outright.
For a long time, he had believed it was because he had gone soft.
But now he understood.
In the end, it was simply because Neville had never posed any threat to him.
How difficult it was to change a person's true nature.
No matter how beautifully it was decorated on the surface, cut it open, and the same familiar core remained underneath.
A self-mocking smile tugged at the corner of Dawn's mouth.
Then he looked down again.
Voldemort was staring back at him, equally astonished by what had just happened.
"It's not over yet, Tom."
His voice was soft.
Yet Voldemort heard it.
Frowning, utterly unable to understand what he had witnessed, he called across the battlefield in a cold voice,
"Richter... what exactly are you doing?"
He genuinely could not comprehend Dawn's actions.
The two had seemed strangely harmonious together only moments before.
Yet Dawn had betrayed Flamel without the slightest hesitation.
Dawn Richter truly was a wizard remarkably similar to himself.
And therefore...
Exceptionally dangerous.
Voldemort's wariness toward a fellow predator deepened.
Dawn ignored him completely.
He drained the last of his Invigoration Potion in a single swallow before continuing to command his Fiendfyre, keeping Voldemort firmly pinned within Jerusalem.
Thinking back, the only reason he hadn't betrayed Flamel yesterday was because he had wanted to kill Voldemort first while the old alchemist was still helping him.
Unfortunately...
Voldemort's immortality had prevented events from unfolding as perfectly as he had hoped.
So Dawn had settled for the next best option.
To maximize the success of what came next, he needed Voldemort to remain trapped in Jerusalem.
And he needed to eliminate the one person who would unquestionably stand in his way.
Nicolas Flamel.
Silence settled between the two enemies.
Only the crackling roar of Fiendfyre echoed across the battlefield.
Meanwhile, the expanding wall of cursed fire finally pushed beyond the limits of the Muggle-Repelling Charm.
For the first time...
It entered the sight of the general public.
Although Fiendfyre could be extinguished with the General Counter-Spell, there simply weren't enough Israeli Ministry wizards.
Only six remained from the original seven.
Against flames on this scale, their efforts amounted to little more than a drop in the ocean.
Soon enough...
An angry voice shouted from the distance.
"What the hell are you people doing?! What was that Fiendfyre explosion just now?!"
Perhaps because one of his subordinates had died, the gaunt middle-aged wizard came storming back.
Before he had even reached them, he was already yelling,
"I finally managed to convince the Muggle authorities to let us handle this ourselves!
Couldn't you control yourselves? Are you actually trying to destroy the Statute of Secrecy?"
His tone was openly hostile.
Dawn merely sneered inwardly. 'Just as I thought, Mr. Flamel.'
'They don't dare confront Voldemort. But they have plenty of courage to scream at you.'
He paid the wizard no attention.
Instead, his thoughts lingered on one particular phrase.
"I managed to convince the Muggle authorities..."
Once again, it confirmed something.
The Ministry of Magic maintained contact with high-ranking Muggle governments.
The Statute of Secrecy existed to prevent widespread exposure of magic, not to sever all communication.
Dawn already knew as much.
For example, Britain's Ministry maintained the Muggle Liaison Office specifically to coordinate with the non-magical government.
And during the Triwizard Tournament, dragons had required notification to the Muggle Prime Minister before transportation.
Even so...
Were those relationships truly built on mutual trust?
Dawn snorted quietly.
Putting himself in a Prime Minister's shoes, would he willingly trust witches and wizards who could appear beside him at any moment and alter his thoughts?
Probably not.
In fact...
If someone claimed that certain governments secretly captured wizards for experimentation...
He wouldn't find it surprising at all.
Human beings had always coveted greater power.
"So..."
"All it takes is one little spark...And Jerusalem will explode."
Dawn murmured to himself.
While mechanically keeping Voldemort occupied, he calmly considered how best to fan the flames.
At that moment—
Whoosh!
The middle-aged wizard finally landed on the rooftop.
He had barely stepped off his broom before opening his mouth, seemingly ready to unleash another round of insults.
Then he saw the body lying nearby.
He froze.
Rushing forward, he knelt beside it.
The moment he confirmed there was no life remaining, disbelief spread across his face.
"Mr. Flamel..."
"Impossible... Nicolas Flamel... a legend like him... actually died?"
"Is the Dark Lord really that powerful?"
He naturally assumed Voldemort had killed Flamel. Even the earlier surge of Fiendfyre was blamed on him.
Dawn remained silent.
Watching the wizard's unguarded back, several ideas surfaced in his mind.
Casually raising his wand, he silently cast,
°Imperio°
The middle-aged wizard was completely defenseless.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
His back was turned.
The Imperius Curse struck effortlessly.
Looking at the newly controlled wizard, Dawn considered for a moment. Then he tossed the wooden door to him.
After giving a simple command, he watched the man open it and disappear through the doorway.
During those few moments, Dawn became distracted enough that one of Voldemort's conjured serpents nearly sank its fangs into his ankle.
He shook his head sharply before forcing his attention back onto the battle.
At the same time, while the confrontation between the two had become increasingly mechanical...
The Israeli Police Headquarters.
Although it stood some distance from the Old City, reports of the chaos had already spread throughout the station.
Jonathan sat quietly at his desk, occasionally coughing as his colleagues enthusiastically discussed the events unfolding in the Old City.
He offered no opinion.
Ever since leaving the district yesterday, he had developed an uneasy feeling about the place.
He didn't even like talking about it.
There was something else that troubled him.
Despite everything happening there... The Israeli government seemed strangely content to let events unfold.
No additional departments had been deployed. Otherwise, word would certainly have reached him.
Still...
It wasn't really his problem. Why burden himself worrying about it?
Jonathan shook his head.
Just then—
Bang!
The office door swung open.
A broad-shouldered, powerfully built man strode inside.
"Listen up, everyone!"
He clapped loudly to get their attention.
"We've got orders. All of us are heading to the Old City immediately to assist with the incident there."
Everyone exchanged bewildered looks.
"Boss, seriously?"
One detective frowned.
"We're Criminal Investigation. From what I've heard, whatever's happening over there isn't exactly our jurisdiction."
"Exactly."
"Isn't the place on fire? Shouldn't they be calling firefighters instead of homicide detectives?"
The office immediately filled with grumbling and complaints from people who clearly had no desire to volunteer.
The large man shrugged.
"What can I do?"
He rapped his knuckles against a desk.
"Enough complaining. Assume they're short-handed and need us for crowd control."
"Grab your equipment. We're moving."
Without giving anyone a chance to argue further, he turned and walked out.
Jonathan's expression darkened.
His luck really was terrible. He had intended to request sick leave. But the order had come too quickly.
He never even had the opportunity to speak.
In the end, he climbed into a police vehicle alongside the others and headed back toward the Old City he had only just escaped yesterday.
Along the way, Jonathan noticed something surprising.
Only a single day had passed. Yet everything had changed.
Most striking of all...
The flames staining the sky crimson were no longer some distant, unreachable phenomenon.
Now they stood directly before them.
Jonathan loosened his collar, suffocating beneath the oppressive heat.
As he reached for the window...
"Whoa!"
The driver slammed on the brakes.
"We can't get through."
The officer in front punched the steering wheel in frustration.
Jonathan looked ahead.
The street was completely blocked by collapsed buildings. Bright flames danced across the rubble.
Even through the windows, the heat struck their faces.
"This fire's enormous," one officer muttered.
"I don't remember anything in the Old City capable of causing something like this."
The driver reversed.
Jonathan was about to withdraw his gaze.
Then suddenly...
His eyes narrowed.
For a brief instant, he could have sworn he saw a stone reduced to ash by the flames.
An illusion?
He rubbed his eyes.
But the patrol car had already turned onto another street.
Sitting silently in the back seat, his sense of unease only intensified.
Remembering the flames that had reduced an entire crucifix to ashes within moments, he found himself instinctively on guard.
The engine roared onward.
Before long...
They were stopped again.
This time, however, the road was crowded with fire engines. Powerful streams of water blasted continuously into the flames.
The result was immediate.
The water flashed into steam, blanketing the area in thick white mist.
"Everyone back!"
A firefighter shouted frantically.
Leaning against the patrol car, Jonathan watched for several moments before noticing the problem.
The flames weren't shrinking.
They were spreading.
Nearby, a bored police officer scooped up a pile of dirt and dumped it over a patch of fire.
It accomplished nothing.
Instead, a few sparks landed on his sleeve.
The flames instantly clung to his arm.
"Fuck!"
The officer screamed, desperately slapping at the fire.
It refused to go out. Instead, it adhered to his flesh, consuming it with terrifying speed.
His arm disappeared before their eyes.
"AAAAAH!"
His screams echoed through the blazing inferno.
"What the hell is wrong with this fire?!"
Everyone stumbled backward.
Jonathan's face turned deathly pale.
Watching his fellow officer burn to ashes in only a few breaths, the overwhelming urge to flee seized him once more.
Then—
A deep rumbling rose behind him.
He turned.
More than a dozen massive armored vehicles rolled into view, their tracks crushing the streets beneath them.
"Merkava Mk III main battle tanks? Seriously? Was Jerusalem attacked by terrorists?"
One of the officers gasped.
Jonathan was equally stunned.
Before anyone could say another word, another thunderous roar filled the sky.
Looking up, they saw several fighter jets streaking overhead, leaving white trails behind them as they raced toward the city.
"F... F-15s?"
More jaws dropped.
Clearly...
What had happened in Jerusalem had attracted far more attention than anyone realized.
Not only from the Muggle government.
After several days of escalating events, the International Confederation of Wizards had finally arrived as well.
Dawn never actually saw them.
Yet he knew they were here.
He could feel large sections of Fiendfyre being extinguished by overwhelming magical force.
Far too quickly.
Far too efficiently.
Certainly not the work of the handful of young Israeli Ministry wizards still struggling nearby.
A faint smile crossed Dawn's face.
It held no warmth.
Oddly enough...
For the first time, he found himself understanding Salazar Slytherin's refusal to accept Muggle-born students.
Thinking about it carefully...
Without witches and wizards siding with the Muggles, even if full-scale war erupted, the magically outnumbered wizarding world might not necessarily lose.
Take Fiendfyre alone.
Without magic, extinguishing it bordered on impossible.
Unfortunately...
Wizardkind itself was hopelessly divided.
Dark wizards.
Light wizards.
Muggle-borns.
Pure-bloods.
Those fractures only deepened with time. Even the Ministries of Magic could never truly unite them.
Dawn couldn't help sighing.
Not far away, roughly twenty witches and wizards flew through the Old City's skies on broomsticks, working together to extinguish the spreading Fiendfyre.
They were members of the International Confederation of Wizards, gathered from across the globe to contain the disaster.
Among them flew an elderly man wearing a peacock-blue overcoat, carrying a weathered suitcase in one hand.
If Dawn had seen him...
He would have recognized him immediately.
Newt Scamander.
One of Dumbledore's favorite former students. A man Grindelwald had genuinely disliked.
Newt hadn't been officially summoned.
By sheer coincidence, he had been searching nearby for a rare magical creature over the past several days.
After noticing something strange happening in Jerusalem, he had come of his own accord.
Leading the group was a capable-looking woman in her fifties.
She wore ordinary Muggle clothing and kept her short hair neatly trimmed.
"Please focus on extinguishing the Fiendfyre around the city first.
I'll negotiate with the Muggle authorities and have their official personnel withdrawn from the danger zone."
She organized their assignments with crisp efficiency.
"I've already spoken with several Israeli Ministry wizards.
They informed me that the battle at the city's center is between Nicolas Flamel and the British Dark Lord."
Voldemort?
Isn't he supposed to be dead?
Hearing this for the first time, Newt was visibly surprised.
Still, surrounded by so many people, he felt too embarrassed to voice the question aloud.
The woman continued,
"We still don't know exactly what's happening.
But once we've contained the magical exposure to a manageable level, we'll regroup and head there together.
If any of you encounter danger, preserving your own lives takes priority.
Retreat if necessary."
After issuing her final instructions, she turned toward Newt.
"One last thing.
I apologize for asking this. But Mr. Scamander... Please make absolutely certain none of the creatures inside your suitcase escape.
We cannot afford another New York incident."
Newt scratched awkwardly at his cheek.
Never comfortable in social situations, he hugged the suitcase a little tighter.
"I understand," he replied softly.
___________
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