The train's glow quickly disappeared from sight. The light emitted by the countless stars and the crescent moon obscured by clouds was hazy and weak.
Along the tracks, Albus Dumbledore trekked alone through the darkness, like a solitary warrior.
He soon bypassed the mountain, his path cutting onto the straight track.
Here, the devastating scene became even more real.
Under the immense pressure of the speeding Hogwarts Express, the two rails were severely twisted and deformed. Many spikes holding the rails down had been shaken loose, and almost every sleeper beneath the track was cracked. It was a shocking sight!
In the biting chill of the ravine, rising mists gathered and dispersed.
Albus Dumbledore walked and stopped intermittently, observing from various angles.
He didn't wave his wand incessantly like a clumsy spellcaster, creating a mess of light and shadow in the darkness. Instead, he used a more profound method—listening and watching.
Sometimes, Dumbledore extended his sinewy right hand, "fishing" in the space outside the tracks.
Other times, he stuck his head out over the rails, sniffing the cold air with his crooked nose.
He even made some comical, ridiculous movements, such as dipping his finger in the air and solemnly putting it in his mouth to chew and taste.
Finally, Dumbledore stopped, frowning deeply in the darkness.
Some phenomena were simply too obvious.
For example, the seemingly empty void was actually riddled with scars in Dumbledore's blue eyes.
The magical energy flowing in nature would unnaturally accelerate or slow down when passing inside and outside the tracks... This was obviously caused by the [Spatial Dislocation] that still existed in the space inside and outside the tracks.
From this, Dumbledore at least figured out how Ares had stopped the train while the Hogwarts Express was completely out of control and speeding wildly, without harming the life of a single young wizard.
Brilliant!
Even Albus Dumbledore couldn't deny this.
It was magnificent—the magic and method Ares used to stop the train.
But beyond that, there was confusion.
Dumbledore squinted his eyes, looking around in the darkness, searching for the faint glimmer of fireflies.
Everywhere were the "scars" left by Ares stopping the train, but apart from that... there were no magical traces whatsoever.
"Does that make sense?"
In the uninhabited wilderness, Dumbledore's silver beard and hair fluttered as he murmured softly.
---
"How many died, Dumbledore? Tell me, how many died? Tell me the truth, I can handle it!"
The students had all been evacuated before the Ministry officials belatedly arrived.
The officials from the Department of Magical Transportation looked as if their parents had died. They crawled all over the Hogwarts Express, inside and out, up and down, like ants whose nest had been washed away by a flood, inspecting any remaining magical traces.
The Minister for Magic—Cornelius Fudge—was a short, stout man dressed in a ridiculous outfit: a pinstriped suit, a bright red tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots.
As soon as he saw Dumbledore, he shouted loudly and limped towards him.
"What happened to your leg, Cornelius?"
Dumbledore's sharp gaze shot through the spectacles perched on his crooked nose, aiming at the Minister's faulty right foot.
"I was at a charity gala!"
Cornelius Fudge, wiping snot and cold sweat with a trembling hand, really didn't look like a brave warrior who could handle the truth. He came up to Dumbledore, his pale lips quivering, panicked as if the sky had fallen.
"I was giving a speech when your Patronus suddenly appeared right in front of me and delivered the news. Then, I fell off the stage... There were at least two hundred distinguished wizards from all walks of life present... I've completely humiliated myself!"
Cornelius Fudge wiped the cold sweat from his broad forehead and asked again,
"Exactly how many died... Dumbledore? Oh, a catastrophic accident of this scale... Merlin's beard, I've already prepared my resignation letter. What about you? Are you prepared?"
"Before the matter is fully investigated, I think we shouldn't let the incident escalate too much, don't you agree?"
Besides the Ministry officials, half the reporters from the Daily Prophet had turned out. They were as excited as a swarm of locusts, snapping photos frantically of the shattered train windows and the bloodstains inside the compartments!
Dumbledore forced back a few reporters who tried to sneak up and eavesdrop with a sharp glare, then landed a blaming look on the Minister's face.
"You shouldn't have called the reporters here, Cornelius."
"It wasn't me!"
Fudge glared equally annoyed at the reporters.
"Charity gala... understand, Dumbledore? There were bound to be reporters present, and they all heard it... Honestly, before I could stop them, they slipped away to report the news... ran faster than rabbits!"
Fudge panted rapidly a few times.
"How many died?"
"The truth is, none, Cornelius."
Dumbledore pursed his lips, clearly a bit helpless.
"As I told you, the professor who stopped the runaway train used a very secure method. Extremely fortunately, not a single child lost their life... Of course, it cannot be denied that the number of injured is shocking. The most serious cases might have to stay in bed for a month."
Cornelius stared hard into Dumbledore's blue eyes, motionless.
Only after half a minute did he seem convinced Dumbledore wasn't lying. Immediately, he let out a sigh, every tone trembling!
"Merlin's beard! Can you believe we are this lucky, Dumbledore, hmm? Can you believe it? Not a single one died!"
Cornelius Fudge kept wiping his eyes, unable to control his trembling hands.
"I don't know what you were thinking, Dumbledore, but on my way here, I had already prepared for the worst.
I definitely couldn't keep being Minister for Magic, and you would surely lose your position as Headmaster of Hogwarts—I mean, after the furious public kicked us both out of office and marched us to Azkaban... Could we at least share a cell?"
It was certain that Dumbledore rolled his eyes.
Cornelius Fudge was still muttering foolishness, but Dumbledore had lost interest in listening. He also didn't believe these officials from the Department of Magical Transportation could investigate any "truth" that would interest him.
"I'm going back to Hogwarts, Cornelius. Are you... er, going to visit the injured as Minister?"
"Oh, of course!"
Reminded, Cornelius looked suddenly enlightened.
"Naturally, naturally, I intended to do so... So, what about the hero professor who saved us from trial?"
"He is currently resting at the school as well—"
Dumbledore said, then remembered something.
"Oh, right. That professor mentioned, if the Ministry intends to reward him, could it be in gold..."
"Gold?!"
Cornelius Fudge jumped as if someone had stepped on his foot, staring at Dumbledore as if he were mad.
"For a merit of this magnitude, just gold would be too stingy, Dumbledore! How about an Order of Merlin? At least First Class... definitely no problem. Maybe I can write a letter to the Wizengamot and ask if they have any Special Class medals?"
"That is your prerogative, Cornelius—"
Dumbledore, eager to return to school to see the students, extended an arm.
"Apparate, Cornelius. Only I can take you in."
"Thanks, thanks—"
Cornelius placed his hand on Dumbledore's arm.
"By the way, what is the new professor's name?"
"Ares Delfino."
"Hiss... sounds a bit familiar."
"Not surprising. He was also the protagonist in another mass student injury incident four years ago."
"Did he save those children back then too?"
"Oh, mainly he injured them... Forgot? You were the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement then, Cornelius. You snapped his wand yourself."
---