Hogwarts: The Mafia Lord of Slytherin-Chapter 640: [] The Weight of Loss

On the ground below, Dumbledore and Grindelwald were fighting Lance Lee.

Dumbledore had been trading spells with the general when he suddenly froze, his wand lowering slightly.

Lance Lee seized the opening, his blade flashing downward.

Grindelwald reacted instantly, yanking Dumbledore out of range with a sharp tug of a spell. "What are you doing? Daydreaming in the middle of a war?"

Dumbledore didn’t reply immediately. He was looking in the direction Voldemort had fallen.

"Tom..." Dumbledore murmured, his voice heavy. "He’s gone."

Grindelwald’s expression tightened, a flicker of sorrow passing over it before being ruthlessly suppressed.

"Is that so? Another battlefield settles then, Albus. There’s no time for mourning. You know our fate as well as I do. We might die here too. But before we fall, we give Erwin his opening."

Dumbledore met Grindelwald’s gaze. He nodded once, sharply.

Out at sea, where the waves churned black and violent, Erwin locked focus with Emperor Zheng Qin.

Through the faint connection of the Purple Lotus Mark—the Dark Mark—Erwin felt the severance of a bond.

Voldemort was dead.

Erwin’s eyes reddened momentarily, a pang of grief striking deep. But he ruthlessly suppressed it.

He had anticipated this. To achieve victory, sacrifices were necessary. He had to be ruthless.

His mentor was gone.

But he would not be the last. Today, Erwin knew, would bring many more goodbyes.

He needed to harden his heart, or he would never survive the duel with the First Emperor.

Far from the chaos of the battlefield, in the quiet halls of Malfoy Manor, Narcissa was meticulously polishing a vase.

It was an unassuming piece, far from the gaudy treasures Lucius usually collected, but she treasured it above all else. It was the first gift he had ever given her, one he had crafted himself with his own hands long before the Malfoy fortune had seemed so limitless.

As she worked, a sharp, phantom pain pierced her finger. She froze, staring at the delicate porcelain.

A hairline crack had appeared down its side.

"Lucius..."

The vase slipped from her numb fingers, shattering on the floor. Narcissa didn’t even flinch at the sound.

She clutched her chest, sinking to her knees amidst the fragments.

A cold dread washed over her, a silence in the magical bond that had once hummed with his presence.

He was gone.

Meanwhile, on the distant continent, Charlotte and Sunny Finch rested with their squad of young wizards.

The adrenaline of their recent victory—a skirmish against a false god—still pulsed through them. Empowered by the divine blessing Erwin had granted, their magical reserves felt boundless.

Harry Potter leaned against a gnarled tree, watching the perimeter where Sunny and Charlotte stood guard.

He nudged Hermione. "What are they doing?"

Hermione didn’t look away from her position. "Keeping us alive, Harry. We’re on a battlefield, not in the Gryffindor common room. One misstep could be fatal."

Harry nodded, the reality of the war finally grounding his youthful exuberance. His gaze drifted to Draco, who was staring blankly into the middle distance, one hand pressed firmly against his chest.

"Malfoy? You alright?" Harry asked.

Draco’s breath hitched. "I... I don’t know. It feels like something just tore inside me, Harry. I can’t breathe."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a worried glance. Wizarding intuition was rarely wrong, especially when it came to family.

With Hermione and Harry right there, the only person who could trigger such a visceral reaction in Draco was his father, Lucius, back in England.

Draco stood up abruptly, panic rising. "It’s my father! Something’s happened to him!"

Hermione moved instantly, blocking his path. "Draco, calm down!" she commanded, her voice firm yet soothing. "Trust Erwin. He’s a god, isn’t he? The Grim Reaper himself. If Lucius is gone, Erwin can bring him back. But right now, we have a duty to him."

Her words were a calculated lie, a necessary salve for a wounded mind.

Hermione knew that resurrection wasn’t a simple transaction, even for a deity. If Erwin could raise the dead without cost, the legendary wizards of history would be marching alongside them.

But they weren’t.

Still, the lie worked. Draco’s breathing evened out, his fear replaced by a grim determination.

"Right," Draco muttered, gripping his wand. "Duty first."

Charlotte whistled sharply, rallying the squad. "Move out! Remember, we are the scalpel, not the hammer. Harass, distract, and eliminate. With the Chief’s blessing, we strike fast and vanish!"

The team surged forward, a lethal unit of young wizards channeling raw magical energy that far belied their years.

Above the roiling sea, the battle between Erwin and Emperor Zheng Qin had transcended ordinary magic.

There were no incantations, no wands casting specific charms. It was a pure clash of will and raw power.

Emperor Zheng Qin deflected a blast of chaotic energy, his expression unreadable. He sensed the death of Marcus Sima, one of his most loyal generals, and felt a pang of regret—but it was quickly smothered by the hunger for transcendence.

"You are heartless, Erwin," Emperor Zheng Qin shouted over the roar of the wind. "That was your teacher who fell. Does his death mean nothing to you? Are you so unmoved?"

It was a psychological jab, an attempt to fracture Erwin’s focus. But Erwin was already beyond such petty tactics.

He met Emperor Zheng Qin’s gaze, his eyes cold.

"And what of you, Emperor Zheng Qin?" Erwin countered, his voice cutting through the gale. "Marcus Sima served the Qin Dynasty with unmatched loyalty. He dies, and you call it a necessary sacrifice? You destroy the very foundations of your empire to chase a dream."

Emperor Zheng Qin threw a punch infused with pure, dark energy. "Great Qin must transcend its fate! We will forge a new destiny, and any sacrifice is acceptable to achieve that goal!"

Erwin raised a hand, a barrier of white magic meeting the black energy. The collision vaporized the air between them, creating a vacuum that screamed against the sea below.

"That is your first mistake," Erwin said, his voice echoing with the weight of prophecy. "Fate cannot be outrun by denying who you are. Even in the world of myth, the greatest emperors sought immortality through understanding, not domination. Force will only ever break against the unyielding."