Golden hair stirred in the wind. His eyes glowed like flame.
Elijah.
Dokuro's mind went blank.
"This… is impossible…"
"Impossible?" Elijah stepped toward him calmly. "You're saying that about magic?"
He looked entirely unbothered, as if he hadn't just fought a dragon.
In truth, Thunderbird and dragon were roughly equal in power. The difference lay in intelligence.
Elijah had targeted its weakest point from the very start and exploited every advantage. The outcome had been inevitable.
As Elijah approached, Dokuro felt a terror deeper than anything before.
"Sir… sir…" he pleaded, his voice trembling. "I'll tell you everything. Ragnok's manuscript… I'll give you everything. Just—just spare me…"
"I preferred you when you were defiant, Mr. Dokuro," Elijah said with faint regret. "Unfortunately, I don't intend to let anyone learn my secrets just yet."
Dokuro's face drained of all color.
"But if you kill me, how would you know—"
"Don't worry," Elijah cut him off softly. "I have my own methods."
He raised his wand.
The tip touched Dokuro's temple.
A thin, silvery strand began to emerge—like a thread, like something alive being pulled from his mind.
His memory.
"I don't need you to speak," Elijah murmured.
Dokuro could no longer respond.
His body lay limp, his eyes empty, as if his soul had already departed.
Extracting memories in this way caused irreversible damage. It left the victim a hollow shell.
Elijah rarely used such methods.
But for someone already doomed, it made no difference.
He stored the memory carefully, then set the entire coastline ablaze, erasing all traces of magic.
Out at sea, the dragon still struggled weakly, barely clinging to life.
Elijah watched for a moment.
Then decided not to kill it.
Dragons were rare, most confined to protected reserves. Acquiring one was difficult.
He could keep it.
Raise it.
"Perhaps I should get a suitcase like Newt's…" he mused.
A proper space was necessary. Magical creatures were a treasure trove of magical potential—something he had no intention of ignoring.
But for now..
He glanced at Tonks, still unconscious.
That came first.
...
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Tonks slowly regained consciousness.
"Ugh… my head… where am I?"
"The hospital."
Moody sat nearby. Without looking at her, he answered flatly.
"Moody…? How did I get here? What about the Dark Wizards? The goblins? Tom Riddle?" Tonks shot upright, firing off questions one after another.
Before Moody could reply, Elijah—once again wearing John Dolores's face—walked in, dropped into a chair beside him, and handed her a newspaper.
"The Dark Wizards and goblins are dead. Tom Riddle escaped."
Tonks took the paper and looked down.
The report covered everything.
..
Bang!
Snape stormed into the Headmaster's office, slamming a copy of The Daily Prophet onto Dumbledore's desk. Dumbledore, startled by his agitation, raised an eyebrow.
"Look what you've done, Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore picked up the newspaper and read it carefully from beginning to end. After a long moment, he set it down, folded his hands, and looked genuinely puzzled.
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, Severus. There isn't a single word in here about me."
"Of course you can say that!" Snape snapped, snatching the paper back like a striking serpent. "But if it weren't for your so-called compassion, Tom Riddle would already be dead!
"You said You-Know-Who would return. You told me to protect that arrogant boy. But what about you? You had the chance to kill him that night a few months ago! And what did you do? You sent him to Azkaban? I can't believe it—what's in your head? Fairy tales?"
"So, you already know Riddle's identity?" Dumbledore asked calmly.
"You can't expect fools to keep secrets," Snape said coldly, his lips pressed tight.
"Using Legilimency freely is hardly polite, Severus. Especially on your students."
"You should say that to yourself!" Snape laughed bitterly.
"I do believe I have much to reflect on," Dumbledore replied seriously. "As for the resurrected Tom Riddle… I once believed he was undoubtedly Voldemort. Now, I am no longer so certain."
"Not certain?"
"There cannot be two Voldemorts in the world at the same time," Dumbledore said gravely. "Even with a Time-Turner, two versions must never meet. But the situation now is different. According to my information, Voldemort has only just left Albania."
The anger on Snape's face shifted into disbelief, then returned even stronger.
"So you've created two You-Know-Whos?"
He looked as though he might collapse from the absurdity.
"Two. Two!"
"You misunderstand, Severus. My point is that Tom Riddle may not be Voldemort at all. They are not the same."
"I see no difference!" Snape retorted sharply. "He attacked Hogwarts, broke into the Ministry, destroyed half a coastline—"
"The difference," Dumbledore said softly, "is that Tom Riddle—perhaps I should call him Elijah—is… benevolent."
"Benevolent?" Snape's voice rose. "He killed nine wizards and a goblin!"
"They were nine Dark Wizards and one goblin attempting to incite rebellion," Dumbledore replied evenly. "Toward innocent people, you will find him… restrained. I do not call him kind, but compared to Voldemort, he appears so. You should understand that better than most. And—"
"What?"
"He has not summoned any Death Eaters since his return, has he?"
Snape instinctively clutched his left arm.
"Perhaps he simply hasn't found the right moment."
"Lily's magic had no effect on him," Dumbledore added quietly.
Snape staggered slightly, as if struck.
"After Lily protected Harry with her sacrifice, Voldemort could not even touch the boy in his first year. Yet Elijah could—and chose not to harm him."
Silence fell.
After a long time, Snape spoke, his voice low and tense.
"He could still be dangerous."
"Yes," Dumbledore admitted. "But if his intentions differ from Voldemort's, then perhaps he can be used against him."
Snape felt a chill at those words.
"Living pieces are always more useful than dead ones," Dumbledore said gently.
Snape had no reply.
The risk was too great. What if Riddle joined Voldemort? What if he became another Dark Lord? What if this so-called benevolence was only a mask?
So many doubts crowded his mind.
But in the end, he said nothing more.
"You will regret this, Dumbledore."
With that, he turned and swept out like a bat, just as abruptly as he had come.
...
Harry and his friends had also been following Elijah's actions closely. Not a single issue of The Daily Prophet escaped their notice.
"Tom Riddle killed nine Dark Wizards on the Scottish coast…" Hermione set the newspaper down, her face troubled. "What's gotten into Mr. Riddle? He actually…"
"Actually killed someone?" Harry finished.
"Of course not!" Hermione shook her head quickly. "I mean, he should at least keep a low profile."
Harry stared at her in surprise.
"Don't overthink it," Ron said, chewing on a piece of bacon toast. "They were Dark Wizards. They deserved it. Didn't you read the article? They were planning to sacrifice an Auror. If Mr. Riddle.. Uh.. Elijah.. hadn't intervened, she'd be dead."
"And the goblin!" Hermione added. "History books say they're incredibly greedy. They've started multiple rebellions before—caused countless deaths. This time they were trying to get wands. If they succeeded, who knows what would've happened? Have you forgotten the Hog's Head rebellion mentioned in History of Magic?"
"These Dark Wizards…" Ron snorted. "If You-Know-Who hadn't fallen, every one of them would've been a Death Eater."
Ron understood their kind better than either Harry or Hermione.
Lowering his voice, he continued, "By the way, Harry… what about that thing Mr. Elijah told you to watch for? The prophecy?"
Hermione immediately leaned in.
"Aren't you both in Divination with me?" Harry said irritably. "She hasn't said anything serious. Just that Grim nonsense. Oh—and today's October sixteenth. She said your greatest fear would come true."
Harry glanced across the Great Hall.
A girl named Dravin was crying over a letter—her pet rabbit had been killed by a fox. She was convinced it was her worst fear come true.
Ron shuddered at the mention of the Grim.
Hermione, however, scoffed.
"If Mr. Elijah made one mistake, it was trusting Professor Trelawney!" she said sharply. "Her predictions are rubbish. Professor McGonagall said she predicts someone's death every year!"
"You're too dismissive!" Ron snapped. "You always think you're right. But this concerns Harry's life! My uncle saw a Grim—and then he died!
"And Scabbers! How many times have I told you to watch that cat?"
"Your uncle probably frightened himself to death," Hermione replied coolly. "And as for Dravin, she only got the letter today. That means the rabbit died days ago. She's just hearing about it now. And what's your biggest fear, Ron? Seeing Mr. Elijah's name in the paper?"
"I'm done talking to you!" Ron shot back angrily. Then he turned to Harry. "Harry, you should tell Mr. Elijah about this. Borrow Ginny's diary."
Hermione's eyes reddened with anger, but she said nothing.
Perhaps she was thinking the same thing—if she got the diary, she could speak to Elijah herself.