A magical journey that begins in Azkaban

Voldemort looked at the magic that was canceling each other out, with a sarcastic sneer on his lips: "It seems that being strong does not mean being smart. Sometimes, it also means being stupid and ridiculous."

The white mist is like dry ice exposed to the scorching sun, spreading in all directions. The cemetery was swallowed up in the blink of an eye, followed by church ruins, tavern signs, square fountains... In an instant, the entire Godric's Hollow was shrouded in white mist.

People's vision is severely restricted by the white fog, as if they are trapped in small bubbles, and they can only see clearly the scene within one foot.

Although Rogue was unable to find Voldemort, the Death Eaters and dangerous creatures were also confused.

Cats, leopards, long-horned water snakes, etc. were running rampant in the fog, making bursts of roars.

Suddenly, Harry's horrified cry came from the white mist: "Professor? What's wrong with you?"

The sound was like a thunder, making everyone's hearts suddenly tighten. They all ran in the direction of the sound.

Voldemort smiled ferociously, a glint of excitement flashing in his eyes. He suddenly grabbed his subordinate and took away his wand: "The clouds have cleared!"

Originally, he wanted to use the thick white fog to retreat temporarily. Hearing Harry's sudden cry, he immediately peered through the soul fragments to see what Harry saw.

Dumbledore fell to his knees weakly, holding on to his hands to prevent himself from falling. Age spots of varying shades suddenly appeared on his weathered face, as if time had caught up with him at this moment.

The iconic silver hair and beard are losing their luster at a speed visible to the naked eye, becoming dry and messy.

Voldemort narrowed his scarlet snake eyes and twisted his face into a cruel smile. He was certain that this was not Dumbledore's conspiracy. He truly felt that death and aging were attacking Albus's body like a tide.

When the last ray of cloud dissipated, Nicoléme finally saw Albus's embarrassed appearance. His face was full of disbelief, and he murmured to himself: "Merlin's beard, this is impossible!"

His trembling fingers eagerly groped in his pocket, and finally took out the thick magic book. Nico lay on the ground, eagerly opened the pages of the book, and asked the witch in the photo: "I don't remember that the wind of revival has such side effects."

"No, Nico, this is definitely not caused by the wind of recovery." The witch in the photo immediately shook her head, "I'm afraid...I'm afraid his life will come to an end soon."

At this moment, Rogge's action broke the heavy atmosphere. He waved his wand suddenly, and a stone sculptured arm whizzed towards Dumbledore's head.

At the same time, dazzling green light also shot out from the tip of Voldemort's wand.

Bang!

Rogge's stone sculpture accurately blocked the death curse and exploded into pieces with a loud noise. Rubbles scattered like raindrops, leaving scratches on the ground.

Voldemort's eyes flashed with anger, then was replaced by cunning. He regained his former confidence and arrogance, with a sneer on his lips: "What a pity, Travis. Why do you want to save this dying old wizard?"

"You should have just stood aside and let me end his life with my own hands. Then, we had a real wizard duel."

"Take your assistant, maybe Harry, or Neville or something. Whether I win or you lose, the world will become a better place. Without Dumbledore as an old stubborn, a new order will eventually come."

Rogge stared at Voldemort coldly and shook his head firmly: "I don't think this will do me any good."

He stood in front of Dumbledore and became an unshakable line of defense. His eyes lingered on the wand held by the principal for a moment, and then he moved away without leaving any trace.

When he entered the cemetery with Nicolas Flamel, he noticed that the headmaster had a new wand. Moreover, it is the one made of laurel wood by Death.

Perhaps Ollivander saw that the Elder Wand broke again and took the initiative to lend it out; perhaps Dumbledore discovered how good the wand was... But no matter what, Rogge did not express any dissatisfaction.

The principle he adheres to is that there can be fighting internally, but unity must be achieved against the enemy.

Besides, he also wanted to know what strange abilities the laurel wand had.

However, the cost of using this wand seems to be even more terrifying than the Elder Wand.

Dumbledore's aging rate is visible to the naked eye, and his breath becomes increasingly weak and disordered, as if he will fall down and walk into the arms of death in the next second.

Rogge saw his pale lips trembling slightly, wanting to say something, but unable to say it. The whole person is like a candle in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

At this moment, a horrified cry came from the other side of the cemetery, "Master, you...your face..." Little Barty's pupils contracted and his face turned pale.

When Voldemort heard this, he sneered disdainfully: "Isn't it just a scar? Why have you become so cowardly..."

His voice stopped suddenly, because he suddenly realized that his voice had become older and slower, no longer the sharp and harsh timbre before.

A wave of panic swept through Voldemort's heart. He frantically reached out and groped his face, and the skin touched by his fingertips was full of wrinkles.

His forehead and cheekbones were covered with deep ravines, and he aged dozens of years in an instant, and he continued to age.

"Impossible, this is impossible! How can I age? I am immortal, immortal!" He shouted hysterically, waving his wand crazily, condensing a huge magic mirror in the air, and eagerly looked at his own face.

The scene in the mirror made him gasp. The familiar face still retained its iconic features: pale skin, scarlet vertical pupils, and an almost completely flat nose.

The newly added scar was very hideous, adding a bit of horror to him. However, the change was so obvious that he couldn't believe it was his own face.

The smooth, hairless head was like a Pekingese's face, full of wrinkles of varying depths. The two deep eye bags seemed to be cast under a gravity spell, falling down blackly.

As for the face, there were even more ravines that could easily kill a mosquito.

"No... No!" Voldemort roared, his voice full of despair and anger, "Who is it, who is it!!!"

Aging, inevitable aging, symbolizes the aging of approaching death.

He could feel that his vitality was like a punctured water ball, gushing out crazily. Time was etching his body in an unstoppable way.

However, a more bizarre scene took place on the other side of the cemetery.

This vitality leaked from Voldemort's body did not dissipate out of thin air. It was as if it was pulled by some invisible force and flowed to Dumbledore, who was about to die of old age.

Everyone was stunned to watch this scene: Dumbledore's originally dull white hair and beard suddenly glowed with silver light again; his wrinkled, dry and thin fingers were becoming rosy and strong at a speed visible to the naked eye; the age spots on his face, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, and the nasolabial folds around his mouth were all fading at an incredible speed.

Roger witnessed the changes in Dumbledore, not only did he not feel happy, but he retreated vigilantly.

On the other side, Nicolas Flamel was slow to act and failed to take out the Philosopher's Stone from the photo in time.

Although he had lived long enough, the energy in the Philosopher's Stone was only one tenth of what it was. But it was his most perfect alchemical work after all, how could he bear to destroy it with his own hands.

"This wand..." A chill snaked up along the tailbone like a snake. Roger couldn't help but tighten his grip on the wand, and his knuckles turned white due to excessive force.

The laurel wand made by the god of death was beyond imagination. He swore to Merlin that it was definitely more bizarre and terrifying than the old wand.

In a sense, the old wand symbolizes immortal power. It will circulate among the strong, betray the previous owner, but always belong to the winner.

But the laurel wand in front of him seemed to have the ability to absorb vitality, symbolizing immortality.

Just a moment ago, Dumbledore was still a dying old man who could take his last breath at any time. But at this moment, he not only regained his vitality, but even the roots of his hair began to turn a little black.

When everyone was surprised at the changes in the two, no one noticed that the sky was full of dark clouds.

A skull-like ghost face was hidden in it, as if some powerful existence was quietly looking down at everything below.

"Clang (be careful!)" Maria made a clear cry, and the warmth of the phoenix dispelled the chill in his heart again.

Rogge looked up, and a low murmur sounded in his ears.

It seemed to come from the other side of the distant shore, and it seemed to be generated directly in his mind: "Take it and use your life as fuel. When I kiss you, you will get the life of the enemy."

The voice was cold and tempting, and Rogge shuddered involuntarily.

He stared at the clouds above his head, and was surprised to find that the skull face was cleverly raising the clouds at the corners of its mouth, as if smiling at him.

"Enemy..." Rogge hurriedly checked the panel.

Sure enough, there was indeed a label of "old friend" behind his name:

Rogge Travis (Death Gaze, Dark Shelter)

Just as he was thinking, a shrill scream suddenly pierced everyone's eardrums and echoed over the cemetery.

Under the astonished gaze of the crowd, Bellatrix grasped the syringe and stabbed it into the back of Voldemort's neck.

The needle tip seemed to hit the bone, causing her hand to tremble violently, but this did not stop her crazy behavior.

Bella smiled cruelly, her eyes full of murderous intent. Almost in an instant, a whole tube of virus was injected into Voldemort's body.

"Traitor!" Voldemort roared, but his voice was so weak that even this roar sounded like a long sigh of despair.

He raised his arm so slowly that Cedric could blow it into pieces with Split.

"You..."

Before he could say anything, the spells of Buck and others had already killed him.

The colorful magic lights intertwined in the air, forming a deadly net, covering Voldemort. The once invincible Dark Lord seemed to be ushering in his own doomsday.

Amelia, the Aurors, the members of the Order of the Phoenix... all stood still, their eyes wide open, watching everything happening in front of them in disbelief.

They were just shocked by Dumbledore's change, and then the explosive betrayal of the Death Eaters directly caused their brains to crash.

"Is this not true?"

Countless spells were like lightning, constantly bombarding Voldemort's aging body. The once dreaded Dark Lord now looked like a puppet that could be ravaged by anyone, which made people feel a little pitiful.

However, Roger's attention was always on Dumbledore. Unconsciously, he almost retreated to the collapsed wall.

If there was anything he learned from dealing with the god of death, it was only one thing: don't deal with the god of death.

The laurel wand was undoubtedly powerful, hiding the cunning, insidiousness, and irresistible temptation of the god of death.

If it uses life as fuel, then the reward given to the user must also be life.

"It's not like the Elder Wand," Roger thought to himself, "at least the Elder Wand remains absolutely loyal to the winner. It was just borrowed by Dumbledore, but like a cheap prostitute, it can't wait to show everything to the customer."

It used Voldemort's life to nourish Dumbledore's body that was hollowed out by the years.

It does not possess the winner. Instead, it pretends to be a goddess, standing there quietly, allowing everyone to fight for it.

"Young flesh." Nicolas Flamel sighed softly, "Even the elixir made by the Philosopher's Stone cannot really prevent the aging of the body."

His eyes flashed with the unique curiosity of scholars, and he carefully looked at Dumbledore's brand new appearance: silver and gray beard and hair, wrinkle-free face, and skin filled with muscles.

"I can't die! Never!" Voldemort's situation became more and more terrifying.

The virus raged in his body, causing his flesh and blood to boil like boiling water. The uncontrolled magic in his body continued to explode, blowing his body to pieces. Coupled with the continuous attacks of the betrayer, he had become incomplete.

However, to everyone's shock, Voldemort still did not die even in this state. Although he became older and weaker than before, he still survived tenaciously.

In the horrified eyes of everyone, Voldemort made a creepy move: he bit off his broken finger, crushed it with his bloodthirsty teeth, and then swallowed it expressionlessly.

His scarlet snake pupils were still as bright and sharp as lightning, scanning the faces of everyone in the field, vowing to engrave everyone in his memory.

"Do you think these can kill me? Do you think I have no other means?" A weird laugh rolled out of his throat, as if a big hole in the bellows was rotten.

He stretched out the two remaining fingers, as if clamping something.

Crack~

A crisp sound rang in everyone's heart, Voldemort let out a long howl, and his body exploded.

The flesh and blood flew everywhere like a smashed watermelon. The white bone residue mixed with the fragments of internal organs tore the air with a shrieking sound.

Rogge held his wand, and finally chose not to stop Voldemort's soul from rushing forward. Because, there was no need.

"You're done." He whispered.

The skull cloud in the sky suddenly spit out a long misty tongue, which looked like Voldemort's Dark Mark from the ground.

But Rogge knew that this was not Voldemort's work.

The tongue accurately wrapped around Voldemort's soul, rolled it up, and swallowed it into his mouth.

Playing tricks in front of the god of death, Nicolas Flamel cut his wrists and showed his long life.

"I will definitely come back!"

Listening to the screams from the sky, Rogge snorted coldly: "Do you think you are Gray Wolf, and you can come back whenever you want?"

Amelia suddenly reacted and hurriedly ordered: "Quick, arrest them!"

The Aurors raised their wands and took action immediately. It's time to make merit!

In the eyes of most people, Voldemort finally escaped successfully again with the help of the Dark Mark.

However, as long as you compare them carefully, you can find that there is an essential difference between the two.

If Voldemort wants the god of death to let him go, what price will he have to pay? Like a purple potato, snap his fingers?

Facing the encirclement and suppression of the Aurors, the Death Eaters instantly split into multiple camps. Some surrendered on the spot, some tried to escape, but no one showed their loyalty after the last war.

Everyone relied on Voldemort to plunder benefits, what's the point of playing with life. Even Bella's group of pure-blooded Death Eaters was instantly divided into two groups.

Bella and Buck took a few people and disappeared instantly with the door key.

Barty Jr., Cedric and others seemed to have planned it. They silently put down their wands and let the Aurors arrest them.

"Hey, be gentle! We are heroes!"

"Would Voldemort have died without us? Remember my name, Barty Crouch Jr!"

"From tomorrow on, this surname represents honor!"

"And me, Cedric Diggory."

"You two, shut up!" Dawlish impatiently tightened the ropes and put black hoods on them.

Every two Aurors escorted a prisoner, and they stood outside the ruins with dignity, like generals with medals.

Nicolas Flamel asked with concern: "Albus, are you okay?"

He understood the pain in Dumbledore's heart, even if that vitality came from Voldemort, the demon who committed countless crimes. But this also meant that Albus deprived him of most of his life.

Roger secretly paid attention to the headmaster's condition, and most importantly, how he would deal with the laurel wand in his hand.