A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts
Chapter 602: The Coiled Serpent - (2)

It's time to go," he thought, attempting to Apparate away, only to realize he couldn't move. Voldemort lowered his head; his feet entwined by wildly growing green grass. The magical energy and shimmering symbols on the leaves caused his heart to sink.

A golden-red chain, formed by burning clouds, bound Voldemort tighter as he struggled. His magical power gradually diminished, and he was forced to release his grip, his snake-wood wand falling to the ground. The green-robed Death Eater, now powerless, began to dissipate.

Voldemort lay on the ground, gazing at Dumbledore. Dumbledore, with a calm expression, retreated a few steps and sat on a slender-legged chair that appeared magically, looking tired as he observed Voldemort. In a matter of minutes, Dumbledore seemed to have aged a century, wrinkles etching his face.

Voldemort, seemingly forgetting his defeated state, lay quietly watching the scene unfold. "What will you do next, kill me?" Voldemort asked viciously.

Dumbledore remained silent, stepping back a few paces and sitting on the makeshift chair, gazing wearily at Voldemort. His face gradually creased with wrinkles, losing its luster. In a short span, a century seemed to have passed.

Voldemort, apparently forgetting he was lying on the ground defeated, calmly observed the unfolding scene.

"Is it worth it?"

"Worth it," Dumbledore said with a light but firm voice, "Compared to others, I am much older, experienced, and less valuable. Besides, I bear undeniable responsibility for your actions, not entirely, of course. I'm not that arrogant, but indeed, I brought you into the magical world."

"Hypocrite," Voldemort mocked. At this moment, distant howls echoed. "Oh, someone is coming. Let me guess, Ministry of Magic? Unlikely, you don't trust them. The Daily Prophet? They're worthless... Felix Harp, perhaps?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't informed anyone of the duel location. Let's wait and see."

After his statement, silence enveloped them.

Dumbledore's gaze swept over the ruined valley. The picturesque place was now completely destroyed, pockmarked and scorched. He lowered his head to gaze at the Elder Wand, seemingly lifeless, unmoving.

"What's its name?" Voldemort suddenly asked.

Dumbledore hesitated before saying, "The Elder Wand."

For a moment, Voldemort's expression was fascinating. "I've searched for its whereabouts, but it seems it's not very obedient."

"It craves blood, desires conflict, and I cannot satisfy it," Dumbledore explained.

Voldemort's gaze shifted from the Elder Wand, focusing on the detestable calm face on the chair. "You're wasting your efforts, Dumbledore. Do you know, there's something I've figured out in our brief conversation, related to our guest, my little friend Harry Potter..."

He suddenly closed his mouth, raising his head as a figure descended from the sky.

It was Felix, landing on the ground, surveying the surroundings like a traveler who had accidentally stumbled upon this place. He then walked towards the two, light and carefree, seemingly in good spirits.

"Felix Harp, you've come," Voldemort croaked, greeting him like an old friend. "We were just talking about you."

"Thank you, I'm honored," Felix said, bypassing the fallen Voldemort. As he passed, he pressed Voldemort, struggling to sit up, back down. Then he walked straight to Dumbledore, scrutinizing him, and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Never been better," Dumbledore joked. His gaze remained on Voldemort, or rather, behind him. He seemed to have discovered something interesting, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Voldemort, interpreting this smile as mockery, twisted his face in anger.

"Coincidentally ran into him," Felix seemed to explain his presence here, "with Kliche, but I didn't let him come; he's a bit too excited now."

"Oh, I understand," Dumbledore blinked, whispering.

"By the way, Albus," Felix frowned unconsciously, "you seem to have aged quite a bit. Is it just my imagination? There are a few more wrinkles on your face since the last time I counted."

"You counted?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"Of course, it's the wrinkles on Albus Dumbledore's face. That's valuable information," Felix said playfully, making Voldemort's red eyes turn evil and cold. Their indifference to him made him feel a strong sense of humiliation.

"I had some things to say, but it seems unnecessary now," Voldemort said in a cold tone.

"Yes, I should have thought of that," Dumbledore said solemnly.

Voldemort glared at Dumbledore. He wouldn't give up easily. Even though his magical powers were restrained, and his snake-wood wand was lost, he could still do one thing.

He sneered, gazing intensely at Dumbledore and Felix, as if trying to engrave their faces into his soul. Then, he closed his eyes, waiting quietly. It wouldn't be long before he experienced rebirth because—

He was about to die.

Dumbledore and Felix watched him without making a move. After a few seconds, Voldemort opened his eyes wide, the snake-like pupils trembling. "What—what have you—done?"

Dumbledore gently shook his head, waving his wand, and the restraints on Voldemort disappeared.

But Voldemort did not gain freedom. Another force bound him. He struggled to lower his head, examining the emerald-green snake tail piercing his chest. It seemed illusionary, causing no physical harm, but it locked his soul, trapping him in this body.

A surge of emotions overwhelmed him.

Then, Voldemort was dragged up from the ground, hanging in mid-air, powerless, like a soul-sucking Dementor with its hood removed. He struggled to lift his head, seeing a monstrous giant snake head approaching him. The edges of each emerald-green scale emitted different-colored arcs.

"A…a guardian?"

Felix nodded towards him.

The giant snake opened its blood-red mouth, and in the next moment, Voldemort's vision went black.

Dumbledore and Felix witnessed the giant snake swallowing Voldemort whole, including its own tail. It circled in the air, forming a classic Ouroboros pattern.

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