NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 152: Dumbledore
The Great Hall had become a battlefield.
Spells ricocheted off the stone walls as chaos erupted among the students. Slytherins clashed with the rest of the Houses, hexes flying, shouts and screams echoing beneath the enchanted ceiling. Injured students littered the floor, huddled behind overturned tables, while others scrambled to defend themselves.
Fred Weasley ducked a stray jinx and shouted furiously, "Where are the bloody professors?!"
Lee Jordan, shielding a group of terrified first-years with a well-placed barrier charm, scowled. "Any other day, we so much as sneeze and they're breathing down our necks — now, when it actually matters, nowhere to be found!"
They kept casting spells, protecting the younger students as the fight raged on. Sparks crackled, chairs shattered, and the tension reached its peak — until suddenly, flames erupted near the staff table.
A blaze of brilliant fire roared to life, burning unnaturally bright, and from within the inferno, a majestic phoenix emerged, its crimson and gold feathers glowing like molten metal. The hall fell silent as the phoenix let out a piercing cry, the sound reverberating off every wall, and in an instant, the flames vanished.
Where the fire had burned now stood Albus Dumbledore.
He surveyed the Great Hall with a gaze colder than anyone had ever seen from him. His usual calm twinkle was gone, replaced by sharp, calculating steel. The students froze as he lifted the Elder Wand, and with a swift flick, a wave of stunning spells rippled outward, knocking out the bewitched and aggressive students in one sweeping motion.
A second spell burst from his wand — a glowing silver mist in the shape of a phoenix that soared through the air and vanished beyond the Hall's doors.
Dumbledore's eyes swept the injured students. His voice rang out, calm yet commanding. "Those who can walk — assist your classmates. Get them to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will handle the rest."
There was no hesitation. Even in shock, the students obeyed, moving quickly to carry the wounded to safety. Within minutes, the Great Hall emptied, leaving only the unconscious behind.
Dumbledore raised his wand once more, muttering a silent incantation. The room shook, the very stones vibrating as shattered wood, cracked benches, and broken glass lifted into the air, spinning back into place as if rewinding time. In less than a minute, the Great Hall looked untouched — pristine, as if no battle had ever occurred.
Before the dust had settled, Percy Weasley, ever eager to prove himself, hurried to Dumbledore's side. "Headmaster, there was a fight— but the prefects and I worked tirelessly to—"
Dumbledore held up a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I know, Mr. Weasley. I know."
Without another word, Dumbledore swept from the hall.
As he strode toward the fourth floor, the professors finally appeared — their robes disheveled, hair tousled, panic etched across their faces. They rushed down the corridor, nearly colliding with him.
"Albus!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, her expression fraught with concern. "We were trapped! Some spell sealed our offices like steel — no matter what we tried, we couldn't break free. We only just escaped. Are the students—?"
Dumbledore's eyes softened slightly. "See for yourself. Go to the hospital wing."
Without waiting for their reply, he continued down the corridor, his pace brisk.
Soon, he reached the forbidden corridor on the third floor. Fluffy, the massive three-headed dog, dozed by the trapdoor. With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore shrank the beast to the size of a puppy, sound asleep, before slipping through the trapdoor.
One by one, he passed through the enchantments below. He found Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley waiting anxiously near the final chamber, pale and out of breath.
"Professor!" Hermione cried, rushing to him. "Harry — Harry's in there! And so is Professor Quirrell!"
"No — it's Snape!" Ron argued, pointing toward the chamber. "Snape's after him! He's trying to steal the Stone—"
Dumbledore silenced them both with a calm, steady voice. "It's all right, Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley. I'll take it from here."
He gestured to the trapdoor above. "I've conjured stairs. You can climb up safely — Fluffy won't be a problem. Leave Harry to me."
Reluctantly, the two obeyed, retreating to the staircase. Dumbledore advanced through the final chamber, stepping through the blue flames, which parted harmlessly around him as though recognizing their master.
Inside, he found the room eerily still.
Ashes — all that remained of Quirrell — lay scattered across the stone floor. Nearby, Harry Potter lay unconscious, his small frame motionless but breathing steady.
Dumbledore approached, inspecting him carefully. Just exhaustion, though his scar burned fiercely.
Then, Dumbledore stood before the Mirror of Erised, raising his wand. A shimmering memory played across the glass — the encounter between Harry and Voldemort. Their tense conversation. Harry's courage. The destruction of Quirrell's body. And finally, Voldemort's wraith-like form fleeing into the night.
Dumbledore's expression darkened with quiet sorrow.
"So, you've returned, Tom," he murmured, voice heavy with regret. "As I feared. Still clinging to that miserable existence."
He sighed, calling softly to his phoenix. Fawkes appeared in a burst of flame, landing gracefully beside him.
"Take him to the hospital wing, old friend," Dumbledore instructed, gesturing to Harry.
Fawkes gently lifted Harry with his talons, the boy vanishing in a flash of fire.
Dumbledore's eyes drifted to the ashes on the floor. His expression faltered — not with anger, but with sorrow. For Quirrell — a student once filled with ambition, who had been deceived into believing he could wield power beyond his grasp.
With a quiet breath, Dumbledore turned, his silhouette vanishing into the darkness of the chamber.