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HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 312

Chapter 312: More Work Again

After Hufflepuff spoke that final line, the pasture fell into a heavy silence.

Evans lowered his head, clearly working through the flood of information he had just received. Beside him, the Dark Wizard King showed no reaction at all, as if she had known it for a long time.

While Evans was deep in thought, Hufflepuff turned to face the woman in fine robes hovering in midair.

She had noticed this lady a long time ago, but earlier, the woman had been helping deal with the mist, leaving no chance to speak. After that, the inheritor she had chosen began asking questions, and Hufflepuff’s duty was to answer them. She could not do anything else in the middle of that.

Only now did she finally have a moment.

“How should I address you?” Hufflepuff asked, still wearing that gentle smile, and offered her hand.

The Dark Wizard King extended her own hand and shook the old palm. She opened her mouth, fell silent for a moment, then spoke softly.

“Just call me the Dark Wizard King.”

Hufflepuff tilted her head, a little puzzled. “That is an odd title. I do not think you are some wicked Dark witch.”

The woman before her displayed many traits tied to dark magic, but Hufflepuff did not feel she was an irredeemable villain like Herpo.

Her instincts in such matters were rarely wrong.

After another long silence, the Dark Wizard King replied in a low, steady voice.

“It is to ensure I never forget what I once did.”

Hufflepuff exchanged a few more words with her, but perhaps because of that topic, the Dark Wizard King’s mood did not lift. Noticing it, Hufflepuff ended the conversation at the right moment and went back to fussing over the hippogriff that fascinated her so much.

About three minutes later, Evans finally sorted through everything. He lifted his head and asked, “So do I need to deal with Herpo first?”

“No. Not that urgently.” Hufflepuff shook her head. “Earlier, I only told you about dark magic and the Hall of Lost Dreams. Beyond that, I still need to teach you some important rituals and knowledge. That is the true purpose of this space.”

“With them, this world will be better prepared for that era’s return.”

“Once I finish, my mission will be complete. But do not worry. Even after my mission ends, this space will remain for at least half a month, so those who come after can study how it was formed.”

“In those two weeks, Herpo’s reach should not be able to enter. You will have enough time to deal with…”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Hufflepuff’s expression changed sharply. She looked up at the sky above the pasture, her eyes turning grave.

Evans followed her gaze.

A thin wisp of grey-black mist had appeared in the sky at some point. It grew rapidly, spreading with terrifying speed. In only a few seconds, it had corroded a large portion of the heavens above them.

Seeing the familiar scene, Evans turned to look at the woman beside him, who was also watching the sky.

Back in Egypt, mist like this had appeared above her pyramid as well. As it expanded, the ground had spawned a mass of monsters she had called her people.

Now it seemed this was just another standard trick.

“This malice is trying to seize this space?” The Dark Wizard King’s eyes flickered with confusion, but her hands did not pause. Threads of paler mist gathered around her, and one mummy-like creature after another formed on the ground, wrapped in bandages. They launched themselves at the mist in the sky.

Wait, they can fly?

Evans glanced at the bandaged creatures shooting upward, then looked at the Dark Wizard King’s puzzled expression and could not help asking, “You seem surprised. You did not know malice could be used like this?”

In his impression, apart from her relentless pursuit of Merlin, the Dark Wizard King’s defining trait was her deep understanding of dark magic that he himself was not familiar with.

After all, she belonged to Merlin’s generation and had been Morgana’s student.

And yet, even she had blind spots.

“Where malice touches, it can become a Dark wizard’s territory,” she explained. “Within that territory, we can exert far greater power. For example, I can grant my people a form of undying persistence within it.”

“But this malice is not merely expanding territory. It is invading. It is trying to take this space, rather than turn this space into its territory.”

“What is the difference?” Evans asked.

Seeing that he truly did not understand, the Dark Wizard King explained patiently. “Normal territory expansion is like claiming unowned land as your own. But this is a separate, carved-out space. It has a true controller. Even if malice fully invades every inch of it, all it can do is destroy it, not gain control of it.”

“In principle, the best way for a Dark wizard to take a place like this is to control the controller and turn them into a puppet, then take the space indirectly, the way he did before.”

“But right now, he seems to be forcibly ripping control away. It is not reasonable.” Her eyes were filled with genuine confusion, as if the scene were challenging everything she knew.

“So it is like an animal marking its territory, but if it tries that on a house with a lock, it still will not own the house?” Evans summarised.

“That comparison is disgusting,” the Dark Wizard King said, frowning, though she still nodded. “But yes. That is about right.”

With that confirmation, Evans looked toward the figure standing not far away, staring up at the sky without moving. In just this short time, the old woman who had looked so solid earlier had become noticeably faint and unreal.

“I take it the other spaces are experiencing the same thing?” Evans asked.

After a brief silence, Hufflepuff’s echo nodded. “Yes. We share certain links. Not many, but enough to synchronise some sensations.”

“Then I probably do not have time to wait for you to finish teaching me everything.”

Evans smiled, a little helplessly. He looked once more at the mist in the sky, then turned to the Dark Wizard King.

“Could I ask you to hold this place together for a while?”

The Dark Wizard King nodded. “No problem. I was going to study this use of malice anyway.”

“Thank you,” Evans spoke with real seriousness, then looked toward the magical creatures not far away, all watching the sky with wary eyes.

“Come on. More work to do.”

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 318

Chapter 318: Voldemort Defeated!

When that familiar voice rang out from above, everyone present froze.

Snape’s face twitched. He stopped dead, abandoning his attempt to rush back to the castle, and stared up at the figure standing in the sky. He pursed his lips, snorted through his nose, and muttered, “Smug little brat. Always has to make an entrance at the finale.”

Dumbledore, after a few stunned seconds, finally caught up with reality. The heavy seriousness on his face vanished, replaced by complete relief, and he chuckled. “Dear me. I really am getting old. To think I did not recognise the owner of such glorious magic…”

Within the layered golden magic circles, Voldemort’s expression locked.

His heart sank.

He snapped his head up. The moment that figure in the high sky entered his sight, Voldemort unleashed the most twisted, hateful howl of his life.

“Ethan Vincent!!!”

Ethan’s lips curled. His black hair swayed in the tide of magic, his features strikingly handsome, his whole body shining with dazzling brilliance.

In that lightless, crow-black night, he was the brightest star.

“So handsome…” Cho Chang stared upwards without blinking, a flush rising across her pale, gentle face.

Hermione immediately shot her a wary look.

Hermione remembered. There had been a year when this seemingly innocent, delicate girl had followed Ethan around for more than half the term with a damp, stubborn intensity. Even now, Hermione could still occasionally feel that burning gaze from behind corners.

Luna watched in silence, utterly entranced, as if she wanted to carve that vigorous silhouette into her eyes forever.

Thump. Thump.

Luna pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs. At the same time, a warm current surged from somewhere deep inside her.

“I’m really looking forward to the summer holidays,” Luna murmured. “Then I can play with Ethan for ages.”

Her eyes, reflecting Ethan’s figure, glittered brightly, as if countless stars had pooled within them.

【Name: Skyfall】
【Type: Spell】
【Rank: Tier 2 · Purple Epic】
【Effect: One-time high-tier magic. Requires 3 minutes of preparation time. Calls down a holy pillar of light from the sky, dealing devastating damage to all hostile creatures within a radius of 300 to 800 metres. Extra effective against evil creatures.】
【Evaluation: This strike will pierce through Hell!】

“It’s over.”

Ethan lowered his gaze. Behind him, 【Wings of the Death Bird】 spread wide, and he looked like an angel both merciful and terrifying. He cast a pitying glance down at Voldemort, who was still roaring in fury, and left his respected enemy with one last line.

“A corpse is talking.”

I’m waiting for the cooldown. What are you shouting for?

Ethan raised his hand.

He brought it down.

Boom!!!!!

In that instant, the world fell silent, as if someone had pressed a mute button.

In everyone’s eyes, there was only the golden pillar of light descending from the heavens. It was as if they had been dragged into Paradise in a single step, as if heaven and earth had been painted gold.

And then it swallowed Voldemort, who had been roaring in the second before.

It erased everything.

“W-what is that…?” an Auror whispered, trembling.

Staring at the golden pillar that pierced sky and earth, his knees went weak. He dropped to the ground with a thud, kneeling.

Tears poured down his face. He threw his arms up, both eyes dyed with gold, and screamed from his throat like a man who had lost all reason. “A miracle, it’s a miracle!”

Rumble!

The ground split.

The earth heaved like a blanket being yanked up, and then, in that radiant light, it disintegrated into dust. Nobody could fight that vast, natural force.

They could not scream. They could not move.

They could only be dragged helplessly into the collapsing shockwave, filled with reverence, looking up at the only pillar of light in the world. From the depths of their souls rose a shudder that would never fade.

“Ah… is this the miracle of magic…?”

Dumbledore watched, and for a moment his eyes grew wet.

Perhaps this was simply what happened when a scholar stood before magic at its highest.

“Honestly, I almost want to ask Ethan to take me as his apprentice,” Dumbledore muttered. He removed his spectacles and dabbed at the corners of his eyes, letting himself be bathed in that beautiful, destructive light.

Far away at the castle, students and professors witnessed it as well.

“Merlin, what on earth is that…?”

“It’s Ethan! That’s Ethan’s magic!”

“I want to worship the God of Light!”

Professor Flitwick’s eyes brimmed with tears as he babbled about the future, about how Ravenclaw’s glory was finally secure because there would be a successor.

Draco Malfoy stared at the golden pillar, pouring down like a reversed flood, driving into the sky itself. The last speck of worry in his heart evaporated completely, and he whispered in awe and excitement, “This time, the Malfoy family chose the right master to follow…!”

A moment later, the pillar of light finally began to fade.

In its place remained a colossal crater that cut across the entire Quidditch pitch, as if someone had taken a spoon and scooped a chunk out of Hogwarts itself.

The land was scorched black. Shreds of canvas drifted in the air, turning into points of light and dissolving. Blue-grey smoke rose. The earth was searing hot, and the surface layer had already turned into sandy dust.

And Voldemort, who had taken the strike head-on, still had a fragment of limb left.

At the crater’s centre, a lump of rotting flesh shaped vaguely like a face wriggled. From a black hollow that seemed to be a mouth, a weak, hoarse voice leaked out.

“I… lost…? Impossible… I was given the power of a ‘god’… How could I lose!”

“Even fate… was on my side…!”

Voldemort howled and wailed in unwilling fury, staring hatefully at the figure descending from the sky. For the first time, a terror like nothing he had ever known seized him.

As if the very thing he feared most, death itself, was walking towards him.

Scrape.

A leather boot stepped to a halt in front of him.

Voldemort forced his head up. Through blurred vision, he looked into those cobalt-blue eyes, as if two blazing flames churned within them.

That gaze left Voldemort speechless. No sound would come.

In the end, he could only ask the confusion that rose from the bottom of his heart.

“Why… can you still defeat me… even after I got that kind of power…”

Ethan looked down at him, indifferent. In his mind, he recalled the arrogant, elegant silhouette that had once appeared in that diary, and he sighed.

Then he lifted a brilliant smile and said with pity, “That’s art, mate.”

And art would never borrow another’s hand, never compromise with external crutches.

Hearing that half-sense, half-nonsense answer, Voldemort seemed to finally be furious enough to die. His last trace of life scattered with a hoarse murmur.

“I’m the Dark Lord…”

The wind passed, carrying away soul-dust like ash.

Ethan could feel it. Voldemort still had other soul remnants elsewhere, but after this sacrifice, he would be completely unable to rise again.

“Fear death, and you’ll never surpass it. Hand everything to fate, and fate will only mock you.”

Ethan snorted softly. He flicked his hand, and the withered strip of human skin on the ground flew into his grasp.

【Congratulations! You have obtained an extraordinary item: The Former Dark Lord’s Face】
【Born from cursed flesh, it has extremely high malleability.】
【Even fate cannot easily peer at the soul behind this mask for a short time.】

“A mask that can block fate’s sight? That’s a good one.”

Ethan’s eyes lit up. He immediately tucked it into his robes.

Only one of the Deathly Hallows, the Invisibility Cloak, was supposed to evade Death’s gaze. No wonder something dropped by Voldemort was special.

“Not only did you help me complete the Soul Cauldron ritual and massively boost my magic, but you even gave me a precious extraordinary material.”

“Hajifu, you’re making me feel embarrassed.”

Ethan rubbed his nose and spoke shyly, then frowned in thought. “But why is this extraordinary material called 【Former Dark Lord】?”

“Is a new evil faction showing up already? Tsk, the wizarding world really is dangerous.”

At that moment, pale-blue text appeared again.

【Congratulations! You successfully reversed fate! You saved Cedric Diggory’s fate and prevented Voldemort’s resurrection!】
【Soul Fusion Rate increased by 5.2%!】
【87.9 → 93.1%】
【Soul Fusion Rate has exceeded 90%!】
【Immortal Advancement Pathway unlocked!】

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 317

Chapter 317: 【Super-Tier Magic · Skyfall】!

Ethan swept his brush across the canvas. Great swathes of dark-blue pigment spread under his hand. In his ears were roars and explosions. Under his feet, the ground shook like an earthquake.

Every so often, flying rubble sprayed past and smashed down beside him, close enough to graze his coat. Flesh and blood splattered, smoke and dust rolled, and the turbulence tugged at his black hair. Yet it could not pry his focused, cobalt-blue gaze away from the painting.

A true battlefield painter.

Beneath his brush, a night sky began to take shape. Then Ethan’s hand stilled. His brows furrowed as he realized he had a serious problem.

He lacked the right extraordinary materials.

“Cold, shattered stars. A blazing, burning horizon…” he muttered, rummaging through his leather bag for supplies. “Octopus roe, no. Sage’s ear, that won’t do. Rotting grape eyeball, next time…”

“Gloomp,” came a soft, sulky sound, and an eyeball that looked like a rotten grape rolled back into the bag on its own.

Ethan frowned in solemn thought. “So I really have to make do, do I? Still, I'm a man with standards.”

While he considered it, he flicked his wand and sent back a bomb the Weasley twins had accidentally thrown his way. “Cheers, mate!” the twins shouted, spinning around and stuffing the bomb straight into a flesh-monster’s mouth.

Just as Ethan stared at the canvas, genuinely stumped for once, three hands suddenly thrust themselves into his line of sight at almost the same time.

Luna’s pale hand held a shard of stone that glowed with a ghostly blue light. She smiled softly. “I picked this up from an ancient site during the goblin war.” “If you grind it down, it should make a decent pigment, right?”

Queen Ariana bent down and scattered deep-red rose petals. She spoke with overwhelming shyness. 【I, I just can’t use them, that’s all… It’s not like I prepared them for you on purpose, Brother!】

Ethan fell silent for a beat. Was it the change in her outward form that nudged her personality a little, or had lifting the Obscurus-like curse given her confidence? He decided, cheerfully, not to think too hard about what Dumbledore would do when he saw this.

The third hand was Hermione’s. She did not bring an object, only a red face and a desperate burst of courage that came out as pure recitation. “According to research, the universe originated from an extremely dense, scorching singularity billions of years ago, and then atoms, galaxies, stars, and other structures formed…”

Ethan looked at the three of them. He accepted Luna’s ancient, magic-laced blue stone, plucked a rose petal from above his head, then gave Hermione a bright smile. Finally, as if concluding a meeting, he said, “You’re all such good people. Thank you so much.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. She looked like she had just been hit with a Bludger. Even the two most oblivious boys she knew would not say something with the emotional intelligence of “drink more hot water.”

Luna tilted her head and asked gently, “Do you prefer a water burial, a fire burial, or an earth burial?” Ethan replied with perfect politeness, “I’d like to ascend to the heavens.”

Luna smiled with saintly patience and flicked him on the forehead, not hard, but with unmistakable judgment. Ariana, however, had no complaint at all. The fact that Ethan accepted her help was enough to make her cheeks flush red.

He was the one who had given her a second life. She had to protect him.

Ariana pressed her lips together, extended a finger, and swung her “Chop off their heads!” even harder.

With materials and knowledge in hand, the final hurdle on the path to the new painting was cleared. For the first time, Ethan truly felt what it meant to draw with everyone’s strength behind him, not just his own.

“In my last life, the moment I picked up a brush, people would scream and run.” “Some even rudely demanded I ‘paint something humans would paint’.” “Turns out, there are kindred spirits everywhere.” “All you have to do is move to a different world.”

He was deeply encouraged. His brush flew as if guided by a god.

Soon. The painting that could wipe Voldemort out in one stroke was almost finished.

Ethan kept his eyes locked on the work as it began to glow with a rising brilliance. Cold sharpness flashed in his gaze like a drawn blade.

“ROAR! You insignificant insects!” Voldemort bellowed, his tentacles lashing through the air and hurling several Aurors aside in an instant.

Now his enormous body was charred in patches, smoking like a slab of overcooked meat. Holes riddled him, like rotting cheese eaten through from the inside. The stench was revolting, like burning leather boots and singed hair.

Voldemort panted, trembling from the pain. Ever since he had been granted that “supreme” power, he had never imagined he could still end up this battered. When did Hogwarts become such a fortress? Was this still a school?

Confusion twisted into a creeping fear. If he were killed by Ethan before gaining power, and still killed by Ethan after gaining power, then what was the point of resurrecting at all?

“No. I can’t fail.” “Today I will kill the Saviour and unify the wizarding world!” He howled incoherently and forced his bulk forward with all his strength.

Then his body rolled over the last thorn wall. The guillotine-like brambles stopped behind him, and the Queen of Hearts’ furious shout carried from the maze.

Voldemort turned his head and saw Aurors collapsed all over the ground. Mad-Eye Moody was gasping, barely holding himself up, wand raised, but only just managing to shield the students.

Voldemort went silent for two seconds. Then his mouth slowly spread into a grin.

“Heh. Hehehe… hehehe!”

He won. It was his victory.

“Ethan Vincent!” he rasped. “Go on, hide like a turtle in its shell.” “You can’t stop me!”

He stared at Hogwarts Castle ahead. A hunger and desire rooted deep inside him clenched around his entire being. He would become the ruler of the world, and Hogwarts would be the first step of conquest.

Then Voldemort’s gaze halted. He looked down and spotted two tiny humans standing in his way. He drew out his words, slow and poisonous.

“…Well, look who it is.” “My most ‘loyal’ follower, Severus Snape.”

Snape paused. Then he curled his lip into a sneer. “Maybe I decided that the boy has a brighter future.”

His left arm, where the Dark Mark was carved into his skin, burned like it had been pressed to a flame. Snape exchanged a glance with Dumbledore. The weight in both their eyes turned grim.

To be honest, even though they had prepared themselves, they had not expected Voldemort to actually reach this point. Did that mean… Ethan had failed. How could that be possible?

Dumbledore spoke evenly. “No matter what, this is as far as you will go, Tom Riddle.”

Voldemort erupted in rage. “Don’t call me that name!” His tentacles whipped and hammered the barrier Dumbledore and Snape had already set.

Dumbledore lifted his gaze. Through the half-moon lenses, his old eyes studied Voldemort’s barely-human shape, and he sighed.

“This is the greatest difference between you and Ethan.” “To pursue supreme power, you willingly abandoned human conscience and became no better than a beast.” “But what Ethan has pursued was never conquest or domination.” “That child, from the beginning to the end, only wanted to climb the highest stair of art.”

In Dumbledore’s mind, a quiet addendum followed: and reshape the world a bit, on the side.

“And one more thing,” Dumbledore added, as if it were a casual thought. “Next term, I plan to have Ethan serve as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”

Voldemort and Snape both froze.

“Shut up, you ignorant fool!” Voldemort’s face twisted with fury. “You’d let that madman be a professor, but you refused my request back then!” “Doesn’t my very presence here prove the truth!”

In an instant, countless tentacles and arms spread wide, blocking the moonlight. Like a towering, joyless mountain of flesh, Voldemort loomed over Dumbledore and Snape, his voice shaking the air.

“Ethan Vincent is dead…”

Before he could finish, enormous golden magic circles snapped into existence across his body, one after another. A clear chiming rang out again and again. The rings climbed from bottom to top like a heavenly staircase, stretching up toward the night itself.

Even Snape, who could face the former Dark Lord without blinking, stared with wide eyes. “What is that?” he blurted. “Is that Voldemort’s power?!”

“Those are… magic circles,” Dumbledore said, and for once his expression shifted. Through the blazing gold, what filled his vision were countless complex runes mounted within each wheel. They looked like a harmonious, magnificent symphony of magic. Yet the only music they would produce was cold and merciless, a world-ending requiem.

Just standing before it, Dumbledore could feel overwhelming pressure bearing down. So Voldemort had obtained this kind of power after all. Even fate itself…

“Severus,” Dumbledore said softly, “go to the castle.” “Take the students and run.” “Please.”

Snape’s pupils shrank. Then he clenched his jaw and nodded heavily. “Understood.”

He started to turn, then his gaze flicked, and he caught the look on Voldemort’s face. It was a shock so real it nearly had weight.

Snape paused. Something was wrong.

In the next second, a clear, bright voice rang down from the sky.

“【Super-Tier Magic · Skyfall】.”

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 316

Chapter 316: Total Melee! Is This Still Harry Potter?!

Ethan, for all his insanity, did have a sense of fair play. His painting magic was already beyond ridiculous, but even so, there had to be a process.

“First, to paint a piece, you need inspiration,” Ethan thought, swinging the heavy warhammer wreathed in golden radiance. With a thunderous crash, he smashed the incoming tentacle into mush. He wiped his face and continued calmly, “Second, painting takes time.”

“Even if painting on the spot won’t take days or months… I still need someone to help me stall this colossal thing.” He narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. “Right. What else can I use?”

For reasons unknown, Voldemort suddenly shuddered. He glared at Ethan with heightened suspicion, as if something filthy had fixed its gaze on him.

“How troubled and helpless you look,” Voldemort mocked maliciously, his face stretching like rubber, his grin splitting wider and wider until it nearly reached his ears. Shredded tentacles fell to the ground with wet splats, wriggling like fat worms, then rising and merging into new humanoid monsters.

“More of them? Haven’t seen anything this tenacious since the war!” Mad-Eye Moody barked, his magical eye spinning in its socket. He raised his wand, and jets of orange-red flame burst from the tip. “Fire. They’re afraid of fire!” Then he roared, “Incendio!”

Fire swept across the ground in a roaring tide, swallowing the flesh-monsters as they screamed.

“Hmph. Still alive?” Voldemort sneered with contempt, “but you’re all barely keeping yourselves alive.” This battle had cost him a huge portion of his Death Eaters, but with this kind of power, he no longer needed those useless scraps.

“Ethan Vincent!” Voldemort’s voice rose again, cruel and triumphant. “Now you stand alone. Who’s left to help you?” His many eyeballs rolled greedily, staring past the maze to Hogwarts, that towering castle perched on the cliff like a treasure vault calling to him.

“Corrode it. Take it. I’ll mount Ethan’s head on the highest tower and admire it every day.” His eyes turned blood-red, and in his mind, there was only a predator’s hunger.

That was when Ethan’s gaze flicked sideways, catching movement deeper in the maze. The corner of his mouth lifted. He called out brightly, “Oh? I’m alone, am I?” “Looks like all those eyes you’ve got are just for decoration!”

A silver-white moon-glow erupted, like a galaxy being poured down from the heavens. In that dazzling river of starlight, a massive full moon descended lightly and struck Voldemort’s body.

Boom!

A tremendous silver shockwave exploded outward from Voldemort, blasting a gap the size of nearly a third of his swollen flesh-mountain. Voldemort howled in agony, twisting violently as blood poured like rain and splattered the ground.

The maze itself parted, making way. “Mad girl” Luna Lovegood stepped forward with a wand in hand, long blond hair streaming behind her, her whole body surging with starlike magic. Her blue eyes fixed on the blood-red flesh-mountain, then lifted to Ethan hovering above. She puffed out her cheeks and complained, “You’re playing again without me.”

Then she laughed, light as birdsong. “But this time, I’m the one who came to find you.”

Ethan looked down at her, warmth spreading through him despite himself. He smiled helplessly. “So there really is no stopping you.”

They shared a smile, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Voldemort, supposedly the one standing alone: ‘…’ Seeing it was worse than being stabbed.

“How pathetic!” Voldemort hissed, half in pain, half in fury. “Fools, rushing to your deaths like moths to a flame!” He lashed out with tentacles, trying to skewer them like meat on a spit.

“And us!” voices shouted. Figures burst out from behind Luna, wands raised, faces tense but movements organised as they cast in rhythm, intercepting the tentacles’ strikes.

The Aurors gaped. “Have these students lost their minds? Didn’t the professors seal off the maze?” Moody smacked his lips and muttered with satisfaction, “Not bad. As expected of my students. Brave.” The Aurors looked at him as if they had been slapped smeared with troll snot, because clearly the problem started at the top.

One Auror even laughed despite himself. “Hogwarts now is a bit more… aggressive than in my day.” People said Dumbledore had grown more conservative with age, but right now, perhaps “aggressive” was exactly what Hogwarts needed.

In the midst of the battle, Voldemort felt humiliated. Students daring to resist him? “Ethan Vincent! These are your reinforcements? Worthless insects!”

Before he could finish, a towering figure rose from the earth, nearly as massive as Voldemort’s flesh-mountain. A golden sceptre slammed into the ground with a deafening clang, and a young yet commanding voice rolled across the maze.

“This is my territory. Aren’t you being far too insolent?” “I’ll chop your heads off!”

It was the Queen of Hearts, Ariana.

Brambles erupted violently, twisting into jagged guillotine blades that hacked at Voldemort from every direction. Blood sprayed everywhere.

【The Rose-Thorn Maze Curse has been activated!】
【When any hostile creature is within the maze’s range, the Queen of Hearts has the authority to carry out “Execution”.】

Ethan raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. Even he, the creator, had never triggered this effect. The Queen of Hearts Ariana, like the Death Bird, was an independent individual, with a real soul and real memories, which was why she ranked as a highest-tier purple epic.

That she could exert this much influence was beyond what even Ethan had expected. He laughed. “Dumbledore’s sister really is something else. Absolutely savage.”

Voldemort trembled in agony, truly being carved apart alive. He stared at the towering Queen, feeling both his body and mind being crushed. Damn it. How many hidden moves did Ethan still have? Was he some kind of magical-beast trainer?

"I! Will! Kill! You! All!" Voldemort bellowed.

Blood, spells, and brambles crashed together. Luna’s spectral blue reindeer charged like a bulldozer, antlers like bayonets and muscles like iron, ploughing through the flesh-monsters. Flames rose, and roses bloomed in massive, vivid clusters on brambles fat with stolen nourishment. And then there was the Weasley twins’ contraband “wahoo, lift-off” fireworks-and-bombs extravaganza, turning the whole battlefield into chaos.

A total melee.

“In chaos, it’s my perfect moment to slip in a bit of mischief,” Ethan murmured, eyes lighting up. While the brain-devolving Voldemort was fighting himself into a frenzy, Ethan quietly retreated behind the others.

The Aurors and the students flicked Ethan a look, then stepped up in perfect unspoken coordination, shielding him. Hearts playing-card soldiers stacked together in front of him, forming a solid wall. In a battlefield this brutal, they carved out a patch of clean ground for Ethan by force.

I’ll show them an even greater artistic miracle, Ethan vowed.

As for inspiration, it had come the moment he saw Luna. Like the moon falling from the sky into the mortal world.

“I’ll paint… 【Skyfall】.”

With a sweep of his hand, Ethan raised a blank canvas amid the booming tremors of battle. “Just hearing the name, it already sounds beautiful,” he said softly, almost fondly.

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 315

Chapter 315: Luna: “Mad Girl” Is My Greatest Praise! Will Ethan Make Cards On the Spot?

Hermione froze.

Before she could react, a deep, commanding voice rang out. “Prefects, please assist your Heads of House in leading students back to the Great Hall to await further instructions.”

“There have been some unexpected developments in the tournament.”

Headmaster Dumbledore raised his wand to his throat, and his voice boomed across the grounds.

The noise slowly died down. Students looked at one another, finally realising that the terrifying blood-red flesh mountain was not just some “Ethan special” Easter egg.

At once, the younger children began to cry, sobbing as they stared at the monster, which seemed to have grown even larger. It felt like death itself was creeping closer.

A few seconds later, the prefects snapped out of their shock and began directing the students to evacuate.

“Bloody hell!” Ron groaned, sounding near tears. “Why does something like this happen every year?”

His roommate Dean Thomas nodded furiously, ranting, “Wasn’t Hogwarts supposed to be the safest place in Britain?”

“Are we all just playing a giant game of last-man-standing, and only the survivors get to say it’s safe?!”

The crowd surged. Ravenclaw evacuated the fastest, which made sense—they had Ethan, after all. No matter the danger, Ethan was always the greatest danger of all.

Among the Slytherins, Goyle, once Draco Malfoy’s follower, looked pale, sweat pouring down his broad forehead. Students whose families had Death Eaters were all in the same state of panic.

“Damn it, it was fine before. How could this happen so suddenly?” a student muttered, biting his trembling fingers.

They had assumed that as long as they kept their heads down and slipped a few coins under the table, they could get away with it. But now, disaster had struck out of nowhere.

Draco Malfoy sneered at them. “If you’re too scared to cut ties with the Dark Lord, and too cowardly to truly stand with Ethan…”

“Then all you’ll get is destruction.”

After all, Ethan wasn’t like the old Ministry, willing to turn a blind eye. He would actually throw people into the deepest pits.

Draco turned and looked at the blood-red flesh mountain slowly advancing towards them. He silently prayed, “Lord Ethan, please defeat the Dark Lord… and become the new Dark Lord!”

At the same time, a figure slipped through the crowd, moving against the flow, and quietly made her way to the edge of the thorny maze.

Rustle, rustle.

The hedge seemed to have a mind of its own, parting to let her pass.

Just as she was about to step through, a hand suddenly grabbed her arm.

“Luna!”

Hermione gasped, glaring at the dreamy-eyed girl. “Are you mad? Headmaster Dumbledore just told us to return to the castle! What are you doing going into the maze?”

Luna turned, her expression calm even in this crisis.

But her words were pure madness. "Ethan is still inside," Luna said. "I have to find him."

Hermione’s eyes widened. She bit her lip, trying to suppress her anger.

“We should follow the professors’ orders!” she said, each word sharp.

Then she lowered her head, biting her lip harder.

Yes. Facing a monster that had never appeared in their textbooks, what could they do?

They should just listen to the professors!

“I know Ethan is strong. He’ll be fine.”

As she spoke, Hermione looked up at Luna.

And she froze.

There was no fear, no confusion. Only a deep, burning excitement.

It was as if she had been given a new toy. In those clear blue eyes, the light of a child shone bright.

“This is my first time seeing a real Dark wizard,” Luna said, her voice light and melodic. “What a wonderful opportunity! I think this is our practical session for Defence Against the Dark Arts this year.”

“We can’t let Ethan have all the fun.”

Hermione stared, speechless.

Finally, she managed, “You’re… you’re mad…”

Shouldn’t a normal person want to run away from such a monster?

Why would anyone see this as a “practical Defence Against the Dark Arts session”?

“Don’t worry,” Luna said, turning and gently touching the spiked hedge. The thorns curled around her fingers as if in affection.

“I can feel it. This maze is alive. Under the Queen of Hearts’ control, it will protect us.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked. “You said ‘us’?”

Luna smiled, her gaze shifting past Hermione.

When Hermione turned, she was stunned again.

Fred and George Weasley, Neville, Ginny, Cho Chang, Lee Jordan, and even several Hufflepuffs stood behind her.

Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had once mistaken Harry for the Heir of Slytherin, flushed red and declared, “We’re only doing this for Cedric!”

“Don’t think all Hufflepuffs are cowards!”

Hannah Abbott nodded nervously. “For… for Ethan!”

Cho Chang blushed. “For Ethan!”

Hermione was completely dumbfounded, staring at these students burning with courage.

Most of them were members of Ethan’s Morning Star Club, veterans of the Goblin War, faces set with determination.

Luna glanced at Hermione and smiled. She waved her wand in the air.

Whoosh.

A majestic, four to five metre tall blue reindeer leapt out beside her, antlers like deadly bayonets.

“We’ll set out now,” Luna said. “Ethan, wait for me. I’m coming to find you.”

“Charge!” the Weasley twins shouted, waving their bombs, their faces screaming “outlaws.”

Under Luna’s lead, the students entered the maze in small groups, moving cautiously into the thick, dark thorns.

“Mad. They’re all mad,” Hermione muttered, stumbling back.

She gritted her teeth, stepped forward, and hurried after them. “Wait for me! I’m coming too!”

After all, she had been sorted into Gryffindor.

Not far away, Professor Snape watched the “troublemakers” stroll into the maze.

He clenched his jaw, feeling a strong urge to deduct points.

Do they really think the professors are blind?

“Should we stop them, Headmaster Dumbledore?” Snape asked.

Dumbledore chuckled. “No, for them, this is a valuable experience.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “With all due respect, they’re just children.”

“I know, Severus,” Dumbledore interrupted, his gaze fixed on the approaching flesh mountain. His hand tightened around his gnarled wand, his eyes deep.

“There isn’t time for them to grow slowly… though, as their protectors, that is our failure.”

“But this time, under Mr Vincent’s leadership, I believe we’ll all reach a better ending.”

Snape fell silent, a memory of a red-haired, green-eyed girl flashing in his mind. He took a deep breath, gripped his wand, and stood beside Dumbledore, facing the crushing blood-red flesh mountain.

If Ethan was not here, then they would be Hogwarts’ strongest wall.

Boom!

A crimson thunder spear shot across the sky like a falling star, piercing Voldemort’s bloated body and pinning him to the ground.

“Roar!”

Voldemort roared in fury. Flesh surged like living water, creeping up the crackling lightning spear.

“Break,” Ethan said simply, slashing two fingers through the air.

Boom!

Orange flames surged up, warping the air, twisting into a roaring fire dragon that carried the weight of ancient times. In one bite, it swallowed Voldemort whole.

“Argh!” Voldemort roared, pain finally breaking through. The sound made the battling Aurors instinctively cover their ears.

Panting, Ethan felt the magic potion’s effect again. If he hadn’t activated the power within him, these two moves would have drained him as if he’d gulped down three bottles of Felix Felicis.

But still.

“It’s not enough.”

When the dragon flames faded, fresh flesh instantly surged from Voldemort’s scorched body, like an endless mountain of meat. No matter how many times he was cut down, he would not die.

“You’re not bad,” Voldemort rasped, impressed despite himself. He had not expected Ethan Vincent to be this powerful, far beyond any normal wizard.

For his future reign, he had to eliminate Ethan as soon as possible.

“But I have been given infinite power!” Voldemort roared. “How can a weak insect like you defeat me, the embodiment of fate?!”

“Die!”

Ethan slashed through the incoming tentacles, thinking to himself:
Yes, with my current magic, I can only hold Voldemort back.
But I still can’t kill him.

“I have no choice. I’ll have to use that move…”

Ethan’s eyes darkened, excitement rising.
“That is, 【On-the-Spot Card Creation】!”

One Piece: The Dragon All-Star - 198

Chapter 198: York Dies! Kizaru’s Helpless Dilemma

York turned around mechanically, inch by inch, and saw the figure she least wanted to face right now.

Enel was leaning against the shadowed corner, arms folded across his chest.

Those eyes that were usually half-lidded now held only cold indifference, like he was looking at a corpse.

“E-Enel, sir?” York swallowed hard. Almost out of instinct, that innocent, clueless smile snapped back onto her face. “I, I was just lost. Do you believe me?”

Enel’s mouth twisted. “Then let me say this. I just happened to be passing by, and I just happened to overhear you talking to the Marines. Do you believe me?”

If his Observation Haki had not reached far enough to catch people’s voices, he really might have been fooled by her.

“I do. Of course I do.” York nodded vigorously, looking unbelievably sincere.

The instant she lowered her head, the fake panic in her eyes vanished, replaced by grim resolve.

She jerked her mouth wide open. “Hel-”

Before she could force out the rest of the word, a blazing blue bolt of lightning struck after her, yet arrived first, punching straight through her chest.

The current went berserk inside York’s body. Arcs cracked across her surface, and scorched black smoke rose with a stench of burning.

She staggered, then toppled forward stiffly and hit the floor, motionless.

Enel strolled up and looked down at her from above.

He tilted his head, then suddenly reached out and clamped his hand around York’s metal throat.

“Just in case. Thunder Metallurgy.”

An even more violent surge of current erupted from his palm and flooded into York’s shell.

Lightning didn’t just numb—it brought extreme heat.

The metal on York’s body reddened, softened, and began to drip right in front of his eyes.

“Hot! Hot! Hot, hot, hot! Stop it, you bastard! How can you abuse a corpse!”

The York, who had just “died” exploded into a shriek, thrashing wildly.

Enel answered with an even fiercer surge of lightning.

In only a few seconds, dense precision components inside York sparked one after another under overload and heat. Warning tones shrieked in a chaotic mess, then fell silent.

The light in her eyes went out completely. Her final struggle stopped.

In the last instant before her consciousness vanished, her remaining voice module sputtered out a broken sentence through the hiss of electricity.

“Tch. Tell that self-righteous main body Vegapunk. I, York, never wanted to be just one of his satellites.”

Her voice died.

Her body and its internal structure finally melted down under the relentless heat.

All that remained was a sizzling puddle of bubbling molten metal.

Enel stared at the cooling wreckage without a change in expression. His Observation Haki swept over it carefully. After confirming there was not a single intact component left, lightning flashed around him, and he vanished into the air.

Mother Flame Laboratory.

The atmosphere was heavy as iron.

A dense ring of fully armed guards had sealed off the alloy door. Laser cutters and heavy breaching devices howled against it, throwing off blinding sparks.

The thick door groaned under the sustained assault.

Inside the lab, everything was chaos.

“Doctor. The external defense system has been fully suppressed. According to calculations, the door can hold for at most thirteen minutes and twenty-eight seconds.” Edison stared at the durability bar on the screen as it plummeted, and even his electronic voice carried rare panic.

The other Vegapunk satellites rummaged and tore through benches packed with delicate instruments and strange creations, trying to slap together something, anything, that could fight or break through.

“No. There is not enough time.” Lilith threw a half-finished energy gun back onto the table, frowning hard.

“Then let me do it.” Atlas, the tallest of them, with hair split half pink and half white, stepped forward with firm resolve. “I have a hidden backup power source. If I self-destruct, the blast will be enough to open a path. You use that chance to get the main body out.”

“Good idea.” The satellites exchanged quick looks and spoke in unison. “We’ll do an emergency modification and maximize output efficiency.”

They were satellites. Losing a body was not a big deal. Their consciousness was stored in Punk Records.

Once they got out, they could just build another one.

There was no extra hesitation, no sentimental goodbye. The ruthless efficiency of top-tier scientists showed itself in full.

They swarmed Atlas immediately, tools out, popping open the heavy back plating to reveal a terrifyingly complex energy circuit and core. They began modifying at a frantic pace.

But the moment their fingertips touched the internal wiring.

Boom!

An explosion far more violent than the cutting outside detonated without warning.

At the center of the alloy door, a huge hole burst open, its edges twisted and peeled back.

Dust and smoke poured in like a breached flood, swallowing the laboratory that had been secure moments ago.

A shadow sprinted in through the breach and linked up with Vegapunk.

“Shaka. Where are the Pacifistas and the Seraphim unit?”

Seeing Shaka arrive, Vegapunk felt his nerves ease slightly, then immediately asked about the most important armed force they had.

If the Pacifistas and Seraphim were here, with his clearance level, he could bypass even an admiral and order them to buy time.

“They were all dispatched to the eastern corridor to pursue Kai.” Shaka’s voice held a thread of helplessness. He did not know the full situation and could only follow Kizaru’s assignment for the Pacifistas and Seraphim.

Then he asked back, “What happened on your side?”

As he spoke, he took in the unconscious guards and researchers scattered around the room.

Since it was not time for their scheduled memory synchronization, information was not shared in real time between satellites. He genuinely had no idea what had happened.

Vegapunk had not even managed to explain when a stocky, towering figure charged in through the breach like a raging bull.

“Doctor. Are you alright?”

Sentomaru, axe in hand, looked frantic. His eyes swept Vegapunk up and down.

Only after confirming there were no obvious injuries did he let out a small breath. Then he planted himself beside Vegapunk, guarded and ready.

“Where’s the enemy?”

Right after him, a pair of long legs stepped into the lab.

“Doctor, I heard you were taken hostage by Enel?”

Kizaru’s voice did not show much emotion, but every word felt heavy.

The lazy curve that usually sat on his mouth had flattened into a straight line. Behind his amber-tinted sunglasses, his gaze was complicated, and deep inside it hid a sliver of hope he had not even fully noticed himself.

Doctor, don’t force me to go that far.

“Borsalino, I don’t want to brush you off with lies.” Vegapunk fell silent for a moment, then finally spoke the verdict Kizaru least wanted to hear.

“I’m leaving Punk Hazard. I’m breaking away from the World Government.”

The air in the lab seemed to get sucked out in an instant.

“I see, my old friend.” Kizaru lowered his eyelids. A long sigh slipped out, almost too quiet to hear.

Slowly, he raised his right hand and extended one finger. A terrifying point of golden light flickered at his fingertip, swelling larger and brighter.

“I’m sure, before you made this decision, you also prepared yourself to accept the consequences.”

But the laser that used to fire instantly now hovered at his fingertip, the light pulsing uncertainly, refusing to launch.

Time stretched inside the dead silence.

At last, Kizaru’s voice sounded again, seemingly calm, yet dry in a way that was almost imperceptible.

“There’s really no room to turn back?”

“ I’ve decided. ”
Vegapunk closed his eyes and faced the light that might end his life.

Regret flooded his mind like a tide.

So many projects had not even started.
So many unknown fields still waited to be explored.

Please let Kai take Punk Records, and at least one satellite, and get out.

“Sorry, old friend,” Kizaru said it in his heart. The light on his fingertip flared, about to fire.

Zap! Boom!

A pillar of blue lightning struck precisely into the golden laser the instant it was about to launch.

The collision detonated with a sharp blast.

When the lightning cleared, Enel appeared like a ghost at Vegapunk’s front-left.

“Looks like this god arrived just in time.”

Enel glanced at Kizaru, arrogance as natural as breathing. “If that old man gets hurt right under my nose, Kai will never stop nagging.”

“Thunder Disaster Enel.” Kizaru’s pupils tightened slightly, his tinted lenses reflecting the crackling electricity across Enel’s body.

A Logia user with the Rumble-Rumble Fruit was someone even Kizaru had to treat carefully.

Even his proudest speed was not guaranteed to be much faster than Enel’s.

Theory was theory. Speed’s true ceiling was not decided by the Glint-Glint Fruit. It was decided by reaction time.

“Thunder Disaster?” Veins jumped at Enel’s temple. He snapped immediately, furious. “It’s God of Thunder. God of Thunder Enel. Are your Blue Sea dweller ears just decoration?”

He had declared himself a god everywhere he went, yet the Marines always insisted on calling him Thunder Disaster, like they were doing it just to spite him.

“Whatever name you want. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Kizaru shook his head slowly. He brought his hands together in front of his chest, then pulled them apart.

A golden longsword formed in his grip, condensed from pure light particles.

“Ama no Murakumo.”

“Whether the name Thunder Disaster still exists after today is anyone’s guess.”

Feeling the sharp pressure pouring off Kizaru like a blade made real, Enel’s half-lidded eyes finally opened fully.

He curled his right hand as violent lightning exploded from his palm, stretching, shaping, hardening.

In an instant, it became a solid blue staff of lightning.

“Hmph. It’s not as comfortable as my golden staff, but it’s more than enough to deal with you.”

He twirled the lightning staff casually, the corner of his mouth lifting into a cold, arrogant curve.

“And the extras are getting in the way.”

Before his words even finished, Enel’s eyes hardened.

Boom!

A massive, terrifying aura detonated from him like an invisible tsunami.

Behind Kizaru, the elite guards who had been braced for combat did not even have time to react. Their eyes rolled white and they dropped in heaps, unconscious without a sound.

The lab was cleared in an instant.

Only the two of them remained facing each other, along with Vegapunk and the others who had been deliberately left standing.

“Scary, huh. That Conqueror’s Haki really is something,” Kizaru said, his voice dripping with lazy sarcasm, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“But”

He vanished mid-sentence, his body breaking into blurred golden light and disappearing from where he stood.

In the next instant, like a jump through space, he was already in Enel’s face. The light sword shrieked as it cleaved down.

“For an old man like me, that level is still nowhere near enough.”

Clang!

Sword and staff collided head-on.

Punk Records Storage Hall.

After barging straight through to this place, Kai stared at the scene and could not help raising a brow.

“Well damn. That’s really something.”

In front of him was a massive spherical device towering dozens of meters high.

Several thick pipes, each multiple meters wide, connected like blood vessels to an outer reinforced glass shell. Inside the shell churned a pale green liquid filled with bubbling foam.

Suspended in the center of it was Vegapunk’s brain, enormous to the point it looked like a giant’s.

A precision metal band circled it, extending more than a dozen data cables like bundles of nerves, tightly linking this symbol of the world’s greatest intellect to everything outside.

Then dense footsteps and shouting rushed closer.

The pursuit unit was closing in fast.

“Tch. Can’t you let me quietly pack up my treasure and leave?” Kai sighed, sounding genuinely annoyed.

He looked up at the high dome ceiling and drew in a deep breath.

Boom!

A compressed shockwave blasted from his mouth like a giant energy cutting blade, slamming straight into the metal ceiling.

Then he tilted his head slightly. The shockwave swept with it, carving a huge, clean circular track across the ceiling.

Where it passed, the alloy melted through and separated like butter under a hot knife.

When the final connection snapped, the circular “lid” of the dome began to fall under its own weight.

Kai bent his knees and jumped. As the lid dropped, he lazily slapped his right palm sideways.

The heavy dome lid instantly changed direction, shrieking as it crashed into an empty wall and embedded itself there with a deep boom.

The space above opened wide.

The commotion quickly alerted Kuma, who was waiting outside to cover and extract.

He removed his gloves and aimed his paw at himself.

Pop.

With a soft sound, his huge body was “pushed” off the ground, shooting toward the opening and diving into the facility.

Not long after, Kuma landed lightly beside Kai.

When he saw the brain soaking in the giant glass container, even with his steady temperament, shock flickered through his eyes.

“That, that is Vegapunk’s brain?”

It was absurdly large.

“No time to stare, Kuma.” Kai’s eyes swept toward the corridor behind them as the noise grew closer. “Our delivery needs to ship, fast. Get this big thing out first.”

He flicked his fingers repeatedly. Blades of air shot from his fingertips, slicing through the thick pipes and data cables connected to the glass shell.

Slice. Slice. Slice.

The lines snapped clean.

“I’ll handle the rest,” Kuma said, stepping up to the device. He raised his broad hand and aimed the paw pad at the glass shell.

With one strike, he could send this critical “brain” to the designated location.

“No chance!”

A roar thundered in from behind.

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 314

Chapter 314: Ethan: Kneel, Voldemort!!

When Ethan stepped out from the shattered mirror fragments and the towering plume of dust, he was already back in his original form.

Black hair swept in the wind, eyes blazing like torches. He stood upright in the chaos, steady as an anchor, and the entire situation seemed to stabilise in an instant.

“Ethan!” Harry cried, joy bursting through the fear.

He stared at the president of the Morning Star Club, the wizarding world’s new Saviour, and his heart finally slammed back into place.

“Yeah. I’m here.” Ethan turned his head and smiled, his handsome face lit by that golden surge of magic.

For a moment, he looked every bit like the righteous hero who always arrived at the last second to turn the tide.

Then Harry watched, completely speechless, as ghostly blue witchfire crawled up half of Ethan’s face.

Flesh dissolved. Skin peeled away. In the blink of an eye, it became a terrifying mask of white bone. Behind him, a pair of torn, broken wings ripped into existence as if forced out from his back.

“Hee hee. I’ll make sure none of them leave alive!” Ethan’s grin stretched wide, excitement twisting his expression into something almost unrecognisable.

In an instant, he had switched sides at the table. The Dark wizard table.

Harry had no words.

A Death Eater stared and blurted, baffled, “Wait, that kid was one of ours all along? Charging straight into enemy territory, bloody brilliant!”

Yeah. That was the right vibe. Far too right.

Looking at a face that could no longer be neatly filed under “human”, Harry let out a helpless laugh and sighed. He tightened his grip on his wand, steadied himself, and forced his courage back into place.

With Ethan leading, they were not going to lose.

“Ethan Vincent!” Voldemort roared from above, his voice a furious hiss that scraped at the air.

He had suddenly been dragged to Hogwarts, and Aurors had already been waiting. How could he not understand what this meant? From beginning to end, his so called “resurrection ritual” had been arranged down to the last detail by that damned Ethan Vincent!

Voldemort could not even imagine the mockery Ethan must have been enjoying in his heart, back when he had disguised himself as “Mr Lamp” and crept close, smiling along while Voldemort basked in fantasies of success and world domination.

“But you never would have guessed it,” Voldemort snarled, “that I would receive the help of fate, that this new body would grant me power beyond anything I’ve ever held!”

With a thunderous boom, blood red tentacles surged like living roots and, in the blink of an eye, drilled into the Death Eaters’ bodies.

“Tch. What’s that cursed rubbish doing?” Moody clicked his tongue, eyeing the tentacles.

He barked orders for the Aurors to raise their defences, then advanced in a disciplined line, firing spells with steady, practiced precision. These were elite Aurors stationed in the maze on Dumbledore’s orders, and even though they had been told Voldemort was about to return, seeing this with their own eyes still made Moody recoil.

This was completely wrong. When did the wizarding world end up in some eldritch horror storyline?

Still, the Death Eaters had committed atrocities beyond counting. The Aurors shook off their shock and met them head on without hesitation.

“Hah. So much for retirement,” Moody sneered. “Don’t waste spells on the tentacles—that isn’t our target!”

He stared hard at the black haired boy rising into the air and shouted, “Do not waste spells on the tentacles. That isn’t our target!”

“Focus fire. Bring down the Death Eaters!”

Spells flashed through the dim maze of thorny walls, bursting like fireworks as they slammed into cloaked figures. Yet instead of dropping, the Death Eaters screamed.

“So painful! It hurts, it hurts!”

“Master, please, no! We’re your loyal followers!”

The cries overlapped in waves. Every Death Eater pierced by those tentacles had their features twisted with agony, faces contorted as if their bones were being crushed from the inside.

Goyle Sr, broad and thickset, felt only regret. Total, endless regret.

His eyes bulged. It felt like his organs were being squeezed and shoved out of place, like a serrated blade sawing through his nerves again and again, delivering a bizarre pain that threatened to grind his very soul into dust.

Lucius Malfoy, whose family had always been close to his, had not come.

“The times have changed,” Lucius had once said with a grave expression. “Now is the era of the humanoid stars shining.”

Back then, Goyle Sr had thought Lucius had finally lost his mind. In his heart, he had even mocked him, convinced Malfoy was just a coward.

Now, it was clear who the real fool was.

“Gregory…” In the final fragments of his consciousness, Goyle Sr whispered the name of his son, still attending Slytherin.

Strangely enough, even with his hands stained by the blood of countless “sons” and “fathers”, when it became his turn, fear still arrived. Cold and unstoppable.

Voldemort’s breath rasped like a beast. Flesh spread over the Death Eaters’ bodies, swallowing them up, turning them into walking corpses, humanoid monsters.

The wands that had once chosen their masters clattered to the ground.

With a savage roar, they lunged at the Aurors.

Ethan tilted his head, about to move.

A sudden gust tore past his ear.

Bang.

A blood red tentacle, shaped like a spear of living meat, slammed into Ethan’s protective barrier with tremendous force. The impact drove Ethan backwards through the air by several metres.

Ethan lifted his gaze and met Voldemort’s vicious grin.

“Your opponent is me, boy,” Voldemort said slowly, his eyes thick with malice.

A low, guttural laugh escaped him, but it was laced with desperation.

“You think you’ve won? You think this is over? You stole my ritual, my magic, my very life! Everything I was meant to reclaim—my power, my body, my return—gone! You took it all, twisted it, and left me with nothing!”

His voice cracked, rising to a snarl.

“I should be reborn! I should be invincible! But you… you meddling fool, you arrogant upstart—you have left me a monster, a shadow, a slave to your whims! Even my Horcruxes cannot save me now! If not for Death itself granting me this wretched new form, I would be dust once more!”

He spat the words, each one heavy with venom and disbelief.

“I will not only kill you. I will kill everyone at Hogwarts! I will burn this castle to the ground, and I will make you watch as everything you love turns to ash!”

Including Dumbledore.

Right now, Voldemort felt invincible.

The flesh mountain began to writhe and surge forward, waving tentacles tipped with staring eyeballs, rolling over the thorn hedges like a natural disaster. It pushed through the maze and advanced toward the castle.

Voldemort’s laughter shook the air. “I’m going to make you watch, with your own eyes, as your friends and your teachers die miserably in despair!”

“You do love the sound of your own voice,” Ethan said quietly.

He raised his left hand. Crimson lightning condensed into a forked lance, crackling into existence in his grip.

In his right hand, a silver-white warhammer formed, gleaming with holy radiance.

Red and gold wove together in his hands, as if he held darkness and light at once.

Armour inlaid with black dragon scales wrapped over Ethan layer by layer, unbreakable, wreathed in rolling black mist. It carried a cursed power that devoured energy itself.

At the same time, the entire thorn maze moved.

Massive tangles of brambles rose like ropes and climbed over Voldemort’s body, driving barbs into the flesh. They drank greedily, and, blooming after bloom opened, vivid red roses slick with stolen life.

【Wings of the Death Bird】. 【Black Dragon’s Curse-Death Thunder Spear】. 【Cursed Dragon-Scale Armour】.

Every spell pushed to its limit.

This was the potion’s effect.

“Ah,” Ethan murmured, “I feel stronger than ever. This is the accumulation of everything I have built, stroke by stroke.”

His cobalt blue eyes locked onto the roaring abomination of bone, blood, and tentacles that Voldemort had become. He raised his weapons and shouted, voice like a verdict.

“You foolish pawn played by a higher being. Since you fear death, then I, Ethan Vincent, will grant you your fated death!”

“Kneel, Voldemort!”

“In your dreams!” Voldemort screamed.

Gold and crimson collided with a deafening boom, like two meteors smashing together. The shockwave ripped open the heavy cloud cover in an instant, revealing a lightless night sky.

That violent pulse of magic swept across the entire maze, surging all the way to the spectator stands.

“What was that?!”

“Is that some surprise finale Ethan prepared for the task?”

“What sort of surprise finale is a new boss fight… Oh. The organiser is Ethan. Right, fair enough.”

Most of the students stared into the distance with excitement and curiosity, eyes fixed on the “red mountain” towering in the maze.

Only a small number sensed something was terribly wrong.

“T-that thing… what is it?” Hermione lowered her binoculars, her face pale with fear.

Through the lenses, she had seen it clearly. That blood red flesh mountain was nothing like Ethan’s “beautiful” but grotesque artworks.

This was a creation of pure malice. An evil thing, crawling closer and closer.

“The Cup is a Portkey, and Headmaster Dumbledore even erased the viewing water screen… and now this monster appears out of nowhere!” Hermione’s voice shook.

Even though she could not make out every detail at that distance, she felt it in her bones. The figure fighting the flesh mountain had to be Ethan.

“What… what’s happening?” Hermione trembled, lost and helpless.

Then, in the corner of her eye, she saw movement near the Ravenclaw section.

A lone figure pushed against the flow of the crowd and started down from the stands without a moment’s hesitation.

“Luna?”

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 368

Chapter 368: New Members

“They really…” Professor McGonagall said, tears threatening in her eyes as she took it all in.

Nothing moved a teacher quite like seeing students shine. And in this case, most of them were Gryffindors.

Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout also wore smiles of surprise and pride. Even if fewer students from their Houses had managed it compared with Gryffindor, it was still more than enough to be proud of.

It was certainly better than Slytherin’s table, swallowed in gloom.

Among the professors present, only Snape’s expression blended perfectly with Slytherin’s darkness.

“A bit of petty cleverness, that’s all,” Snape said sourly.

“Oh, in that case, why don’t we let Slytherin’s students show a bit of ‘petty cleverness’ too?” Professor McGonagall shot back.

“Perhaps Slytherin simply doesn’t have any ‘petty cleverness’ at all,” Professor Sprout said, displeased.

Hufflepuff was too often overlooked. Now that a few of her students had finally cast a Patronus, she was not about to let anyone sneer at it.

Flitwick did not say anything, but he did give Snape a sharp look.

At the Slytherin table, everyone looked dreadful.

Part of it was the Dementors’ lingering influence. The rest was humiliation.

Not one of them could cast a Patronus.

Malfoy looked especially grim.

The worst part was that Harry and the others had all managed it, while he could not. He did not even know what the spell was.

Up in the sky, the Dementors were slowly retreating. It seemed they had not found any trace of Sirius Black.

Dumbledore lifted both arms and spread his hands.

A faint hum filled the air.

The candles that had gone out flared back to life, and light poured across the Great Hall in an instant.

The cold and darkness vanished as though wiped away, and everything seemed to breathe again.

“The staff have searched the entire castle,” Dumbledore announced. “The Dementors have also checked other areas of the school. No sign of Sirius Black has been found.”

“To be safe, everyone will sleep in the Great Hall tonight. Professors will patrol around you and protect your safety.”

“All right. Eat something,” Dumbledore said. “This Halloween night has been unpleasant enough.”

With that, he turned and left the hall, clearly with other matters to attend to.

Professor McGonagall and the other Heads of House did not leave immediately. They came over towards Harry’s side.

“Well done. Excellent,” Professor McGonagall said, unable to hide her admiration.

She rarely praised students.

Her gaze swept over Harry and Hermione, then moved on to Neville, Seamus, and the others.

To be honest, Harry and his friends managing a Patronus did not shock her. But Neville and Ginny pulling it off truly did.

“Did you teach them?” Professor McGonagall asked, looking at Dudley.

Dudley had not cast a Patronus himself, but McGonagall knew there was only one person in the school who could have taught so many students this spell.

“Yes, Professor,” Dudley replied.

“Very good. Gryffindor, twenty points,” Professor McGonagall said loudly.

At that, many students finally realised the truth. The reason those students had been able to cast the Patronus Charm was Dudley.

“Sirius Black is probably not in the castle anymore,” Dudley told Professor McGonagall. “If you want to search, it would be better to look outside.”

“Have you found something?” McGonagall asked, startled.

“No,” Dudley said. “That’s exactly why I’m sure. If he were still inside the castle, I would have found something.”

“I see. I’ll tell Professor Dumbledore,” McGonagall said, nodding, and then she left the Great Hall.

After the Heads of House left, several teachers stayed behind to guard the students.

No one had much appetite, but they still forced themselves to eat a little. Otherwise, the night would be unbearable.

At the same time, many students had already begun asking about the Patronus Charm.

A lot of them wanted to learn it, especially the older students.

They had noticed something that made no sense. The students who had cast this advanced spell were almost all the younger ones. Second and third years in particular made up the majority.

That ran completely against how difficult the charm was supposed to be.

“Hi,” a tall, handsome boy said as he came over, smiling. “I’m Cedric. Cedric Diggory. Hufflepuff. I heard from Luna that you taught her the Patronus Charm, is that right?”

“Hello,” Dudley said with a polite nod.

“I heard that as long as you join the organisation you founded, you can learn spells with you,” Cedric said. “So I was wondering if I could join.”

“That’s true,” Dudley said. “But you’ll need to pass our assessment before you can join the Kingdom of Order.”

He wanted to expand his influence, but he was not going to take just anyone.

Still, he had heard of Cedric. In Hufflepuff and in Hogwarts as a whole, Cedric was well known.

One was his looks and easy manner.

The other was his excellent grades, which was not common even in Hufflepuff.

“So that’s how it is…” Cedric looked disappointed. “What sort of requirements are there?”

“There aren’t any specific requirements,” Dudley said. Then he smiled slightly. “But there is something I’d like to know. Are you willing to learn spells from someone two years below you?”

The Gryffindors nearby all turned to look.

Cedric smiled back. “Learning magic has never been divided by age or year, has it?”

“Besides, I saw Fred and George cast a Patronus. If they don’t have a problem with it, then neither do I,” Cedric said frankly.

“Oh? All right,” Dudley said, nodding.

“Then are you coming to our gathering this weekend?” Dudley asked.

“This weekend?” Cedric’s face lit up with surprise. “Of course.”

“Wait, I’ve got a few friends. They want to come too. Can I bring them with me?”

“You can assess them as well, see if they’re qualified to join the Kingdom of Order,” Cedric said, excitement spilling into his voice.

“All right,” Dudley said after a moment’s thought, then nodded.

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 313

Chapter 313: Fated Death? Then I will Defy Fate. Death Eaters: Is This Hell?

That enormous eyeball stared down at Ethan from the horizon, from an even farther vault beyond the sky itself. It radiated malice so dense it felt almost tangible, pressing against the skin like a heavy fog.

【Ignorant, foolish vermin, daring to alter fate again and again…】

The voice that poured into Ethan’s ears was like television static, hoarse and jagged, a stream of incoherent muttering. It was the kind of sound that would drive any normal person mad.

Ethan, however, looked almost pleased. He gazed up at the giant eye with bright interest, wearing an expression that clearly said: Go on, keep talking.

The eyeball went silent for a moment.

【…】

Fine, then.

Normal people were clearly not getting a turn today.

【To behold me is your privilege.】
【The one you face is the god who governs death and fate, the existence that brings all living beings their destined end… My name is Death.】

Death?

Ethan remembered the title from wizarding fairy tales. Not to be outdone, he introduced himself right back, smiling as if this were a formal reception.

“The one standing before you is Mr Lamp, who governs light and justice, an artist who brings supreme aesthetics to all living things. My name is Ethan Vincent.”

Death: 【……】

There truly were humans this shameless.

Had Merlin secretly buffed humanity behind everyone’s backs?

【What a slick-tongued little insect… Still, I do not dislike your reckless courage.】
【I will be generous and grant you one final chance.】

The eyeball rotated, and like someone inspecting a slice of bread, it lowered its gaze to Cedric, lying collapsed to the side.

【Kill that human. He should die here, at this exact moment.】
【Let fate return to its proper course.】

Ethan turned his head and looked at Harry, who was crouched by Cedric’s side.

Harry could not see any of what was happening here, which was probably for the best. He only gripped the Triwizard Cup in one hand and his wand in the other, standing stubbornly in front of Cedric as if his body alone could block the world. In those bright green eyes, courage and defiance still burned.

So Ethan let out a long, unhurried sigh. He turned back, lifted his chin, and looked up at the giant eye in the裂 of the sky.

Politely, he declined. “Go haunt someone else’s dreams.”

A Morning Star Club member he had painstakingly trained, a close-range battle mage, was not going to be erased with a casual decree. And if Death could wipe away his people whenever it pleased, what, exactly, did that make Mr Lamp?

【Stupid vermin! Since you refuse to recognise your good fortune, I will harvest your soul and imprison you in suffering for eternity!】

As the words fell, a surge of black mist slammed down from above. It struck the spot where the pillar of fire had been a moment ago, then poured into the puddle of unknown, drained Voldemort slime left behind.

Gloop, gloop. Gloop, gloop.

The mucus-like sludge swelled with huge bubbles, then rose, and rose, and rose again.

“W-what’s happening…?” Harry’s eyes widened in horror as his gaze kept climbing.

A beastlike skeleton took shape first, bone by bone, as if sculpted by an unseen hand. The slime clung to it, forming blood-red, withered flesh that dripped down in stringy threads. Voldemort had long since stopped resembling a normal human, but now, under that power from beyond the sky, he looked fully reborn as a monster.

Only the noseless face at the very top remained unmistakable.

His mouth opened to an impossible width, and a howl full of animal savagery ripped out.

【ROAR!!!】

The sound shook the grass and trees until they rattled.

“I’m always saying flesh is weak,” Ethan muttered, staring at this new Voldemort with open disgust. “But I still don’t want to end up looking like that. There’s absolutely no aesthetic value.”

【Ah… power. I can feel it surging through me!】
【This is what I’ve always wanted—the power to rule the world!】

【Ethan Vincent!! You cannot kill me… even fate is on my side!!】

Countless thin arms and tentacles whipped through the air. The whole thing looked like a meat-mountain forced into shape, stacked up by brute will.

Ethan shook his head and sighed. “You’ve lost the light of reason, and you’ve lost the last scrap of humanity you had.”

“To become a higher being’s chess piece in the mortal world, and still feel proud. You used to be an outstanding student at Hogwarts. You learned all that knowledge and delicate magic just so you could throw it away one day and become a monster.”

“Tsk. Pathetic.”

Still, one thing was becoming clear from Voldemort’s grotesque transformation. This so-called omnipotent “Death” did not seem able to directly interfere with the mortal world at will. It needed a method, a medium, a workaround.

Maybe that could be used.

Ethan’s eyes darkened slightly as he considered it.

On the other side, Ethan’s words hit exactly where it hurt. Voldemort exploded, fury drowning what little rationality he had left. The only obsession holding him together now was simple.

Kill Ethan Vincent.

【I’ll kill you! I’ll tear you into pieces!!】

The rumbling roar echoed through the graveyard. At the edges of the mirror world, cracks began crawling outward, one after another.

【I’ll peel your skin off bit by bit! I’ll make you beg me to kill you!!!】

Ethan’s mouth curved, utterly unthreatened. He looked at Voldemort’s raging fit and offered an earnest reminder.

“Do you know something? The way you talk right now sounds exactly like a troll that’s just learned to speak. If you performed at Hogwarts on Halloween, you’d get thunderous applause.”

Watching Voldemort look like it was about to explode from rage, even Harry felt a flicker of pity. He clutched Cedric tightly, hugging the Cup hard to his chest, his thoughts fierce and clear.

I have to bring Cedric back. We are going back to Hogwarts with honour.

“Ethan,” Harry whispered, voice shaking, “hurry…”

【HRAAAAGH, I’LL KILL YOU!!!】

Voldemort bellowed, and the enormous magic he had been granted poured out in a single flood.

Crack.

Then, with a violent shatter, the space around them splintered apart. Tombstones, grass, the night sky, even distant houses, all fractured into mirror shards. It was like they had been standing here for ages, only to realise the world itself had always been false.

Harry gaped again, stunned.

He was starting to understand a rule of life. The moment Mr Lamp got involved, meaning Ethan, reality stopped behaving normally. Magic became a string of miracles that should not have been possible.

【The Mirror World is about to collapse!】
【Countdown: 3, 2…】

“Hmph,” Ethan snorted softly, and something alien flashed in his eyes. “If we’re going to chase excitement, then let’s take it all the way.”

He moved on the very last second before the countdown ended, stabbing his wand down into Barty Crouch Jr’s left arm, straight into the Dark Mark.

“Come out, Voldemort’s followers.”

Whoosh.

Dozens of streams of black mist dropped from the air and struck the ground, resolving into figures in black cloaks and grey-silver masks. They formed a dense ring around the area, radiating a cold, oppressive menace.

Then every single one of them froze.

They stared blankly at the apocalyptic scene, at the collapsing world around them, and at the terrifying crimson meat-mountain ahead. The thought seemed to pass through them all at once.

Was this… still Britain?

“We heard the Dark Lord’s summons and came,” a short, stocky Death Eater muttered dully. “Nobody said the meeting point was hell.”

He glanced around, as if searching for the one face conspicuously absent, that so-called platinum aristocrat.

Ethan turned his head and gave them a gentle, friendly smile.

The next moment, the mirror world shattered completely.

The ground beneath them became the Third Task arena of the Triwizard Tournament: the rose maze. Hogwarts Castle stood in the distance, unmistakable and solid.

“Hogwarts?!” someone screamed.

A Death Eater tried to Apparate at once, then jolted as nothing happened. The magic refused to answer.

“Damn it, it’s a trap!!”

None of them even questioned whether the summons had been real. After all, who would be insane enough to imitate the Dark Lord to summon Death Eaters?

One Death Eater snapped his wand up, pointing it straight at Ethan. “Avada Keda—”

“Stupefy!”

A faster spell shot in from behind, striking the Death Eater dead-on and blasting him off his feet. He rolled across the ground and went limp, unconscious.

The Death Eaters whipped their heads around.

Aurors had already closed in, ring after ring, wands raised. Mad-Eye Moody held his wand, its tip glowing red, and let out a short snort.

“One.”

Ethan looked at the Death Eaters’ panic, his grin widening with unmistakable pleasure. “Welcome to beautiful Hogwarts,” he said brightly. “Today’s trip ends here.”

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 312

Chapter 312: Removing the “Magic Limiter”! A Gaze from Beyond the Sky!

Voldemort could not comprehend it.

The person standing before him, the man beneath that unfathomable plain white mask, was Ethan Vincent.

The nightmare carved into his soul, the terror that should never have become real, had stepped out of darkness and into the world.

No. If not for the unimaginable agony tearing through him, Voldemort would have suspected this was nothing more than an illusion.

“How can you be Mr Lamp…? That’s impossible!” Voldemort howled, forcing every shred of himself into the scream. “When did you start planning all of this? When?!”

Rage and shock twisted together. He tried to look to his subordinate, Barty, as if the answer might be there, as if loyalty might still exist somewhere in this farce.

But all he saw was the truth.

With the illusion stripped away, Barty’s genuine state was exposed, that vacant, broken, monstrous look. And Voldemort could feel it too, his own flesh melting, the accumulated darkness he had hoarded over the years being squeezed out of him, drained and stolen.

What had his resurrection ritual been turned into?

Even Voldemort, who had studied Dark magic more deeply than most wizards dared, felt a tremor of fear.

And worse than the pain was the realisation that he had been caught, long ago, in a net he never saw. A web woven by that damned madman, Ethan Vincent.

Ethan’s mouth curled behind the firelight. “From the very beginning.”

Then he sighed, as if genuinely burdened. “Honestly, I’m so bright and righteous. I radiate kindness from the inside out.”

He sounded almost wounded as he went on. “It’s all been that obvious, and you still didn’t notice.”

“That only proves you’re too… well, you know.”

A few casual words.

Yet the damage they did to Voldemort’s pride was worse than the ritual itself.

“Bright and righteous”? “Kindness”?

“By whose standards?”

Voldemort nearly vomited blood.

The reason he had trusted Mr Lamp so completely was simple. Voldemort had sensed the darkness inside him, that ravenous force that craved slaughter and wanted the world to chant his name. None of it had felt like lies.

Hadn’t the Quidditch World Cup attack during the summer been proof enough?

So how had the man who reeked of darkness become some “new Saviour of the Light” in the blink of an eye?

As though he could hear Voldemort’s thoughts, Ethan gave a sheepish little chuckle. “I had fun back then too.”

He sounded almost shy. “Sharing one’s beautiful art with the public is… embarrassing, you know.”

“You… you…!” Voldemort spat out a mouthful of filthy blood.

He was so furious it almost numbed the pain.

Never, in all his existence, had he met someone so shameless.

If the Light had people like this, then truly, the wizarding world was blessed beyond measure.

“Dumbledore…” Voldemort rasped, voice cracking with hatred. “Was this your plan? To swallow darkness with something even more vile?!”

“How despicable!”

For the first time in his life, Voldemort, a Dark wizard through and through, found himself thinking the “Light side” was utterly deranged.

Snap.

Ethan clicked his fingers.

The crisp sound yanked Voldemort’s focus back like a hook through the mind.

“All right,” Ethan said pleasantly. “That’s enough chatting.”

His handsome face glowed with warmth in the firelight, almost gentle, like a spring breeze.

“Just become my nourishment and go quietly.”

The moment the words fell, the flames surged.

Voldemort’s pupils contracted. He felt his soul being ground down like grain between millstones, crushed into fragments, torn apart piece by piece. He screamed at the night like a wrathful spirit, eyes splitting with fury.

“No!”

He refused.

He refused to accept that thirteen years of plotting and waiting, thirteen years of crawling towards resurrection, could be destroyed by some arrogant boy.

Worse, he was becoming that boy’s fuel.

No. It could not end like this.

It would not.

And then.

The false night sky of this space cracked open with a sharp snap, a fracture splitting across it.

Voldemort froze.

A presence looked down.

A gaze so supreme it seemed to erase sound itself.

The noise of the world retreated like a tide.

A moment later, Voldemort’s ruined face twisted into a smile so mad it barely looked human.

Of course.

Fate was on his side.

Even if it demanded a price, he would never let Ethan leave this place alive.

A cold, emotionless notice appeared, as if the world itself were confirming the outcome.

[Congratulations!]
[The Soul Cauldron ritual has succeeded.]
[You have obtained: Potion x1.]

Points of light drifted out of the fading pillar of flame. In Ethan’s hand, they gathered into a pale blue liquid the size of an infant’s fist, like mist wrapped around crushed diamonds. It was beautiful. It was alive with magic.

Ethan produced a small vial he had clearly prepared in advance and poured the liquid in without hesitation. It flowed at the bottom like mercury, never clinging to the glass, never separating.

“This is it,” he murmured. “Win or lose, it’s all on this.”

Then he tipped his head back and drank it in one go.

Instantly, something inside him thundered, as a war drum struck deep in his bones.

His blood boiled in an instant.

Hot.
So hot.

It was like molten lava pouring down his throat, flooding every vein and nerve.

“Mm!”

The heat tore through him from the inside out—a pain that seemed to reach straight into his soul.

“Urgh!” Ethan growled, clawing at his clothes. Veins stood out along his neck, and the deep blue of his eyes flared to gold, as if the fire had lit them from within.

It was like the ground beneath him had split—one long rupture of pain, and then awakening.

And from every fissure, magic erupted in a limitless surge.

[You have successfully absorbed the potion’s effects.]
[Magic power has increased significantly!]
[One “Immortal” advancement condition has been met.]

Light burst forth.

Golden light.

It flooded the graveyard, painted the oppressive clouds above with a wash of gold, and turned the darkness into something almost unreal.

Not far away, Harry stared in shock.

From his angle, Mr Lamp still wore the plain white mask. Harry had no idea what was happening, but he could feel it, the sheer mass of magic pouring off that figure.

Too strong.

Far, far too strong.

Like a storm front rolling in, tearing through everything in its path.

Tombstones cracked and shattered under the pressure.

Crack.

Harry heard a sharp snap by his ear. Then the crushing grip at his throat vanished, and he fell to the ground, gasping.

The surge of magic had destroyed the stone scythe that had pinned him.

Harry did not waste a second.

He lunged to Cedric’s side, then snapped his wand towards the Triwizard Cup and shouted, “Accio Cup!”

If the Cup was a Portkey, he could take them back to Hogwarts. He had to.

But when Harry’s hand touched the cup, nothing happened.

“Damn it, why isn’t it working?!” Harry fumbled with it desperately, panic making his fingers clumsy. The beautiful blue surface reflected his own frantic face, distorted by fear.

“At least… at least I have to bring Cedric back…”

Then Harry froze.

Thump. Thump.

He stared at Cedric’s limp body, his grey, dead-looking face, and pressed his hand to Cedric’s chest.

A weak heartbeat answered him.

Cedric was alive.

Meanwhile, Ethan sank into the sensation of overflowing magic and half-closed his eyes, blissful, as if soaking in a hot spring. Every part of him felt clear, open, and weightless.

He opened his hand.

Golden birds flowed out, one after another, circling him with bright cries, their bodies made of pure light.

“So strong,” Ethan whispered, eyes glittering, his irises returning from gold to that familiar deep blue. “I feel like I could summon ‘Colour Out of Space’ for an entire day now. Is this what it feels like to remove the magic limiter?”

He smiled, and his voice softened with amusement. “If Luna saw this, she’d probably start bouncing around like an excited little rabbit again.”

Ethan clenched his fist, watching the glow of his own magic spill between his fingers.

Then, without warning, his nerves tightened.

He snapped his head up, sensing something, and stared at the night sky.

The fractured crack in the false sky reflected in his eyes.

And from within it, slowly turning into view, came a massive eyeball.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 367

Chapter 367: Guardians

“Oh Merlin!”

As countless dark shadows swept across the enchanted ceiling, many students simply collapsed back into their chairs. Some of the more timid ones fainted on the spot.

Harry’s eyes went unfocused.

A woman’s scream rang in his ears, and a streak of green light tore through the darkness.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Clinging to the last shred of reason, Harry yanked out his wand and forced out the spell.

But only a thin wisp of white smoke sputtered from the tip before it died away.

A Patronus like that could never stand against so many Dementors at once.

“Hermione.” Dudley’s gaze sharpened as he looked at her.

For now, he couldn’t let anyone else see his Patronus, not in front of everyone.

Hermione happened to be looking at him too. She had assumed Dudley would cast Expecto Patronum to protect Harry, but he did not. Instead, he looked straight at her.

Hermione had no time to think. She raised her wand at once.

“Expecto Patronum.”

A low hum filled the air. A flood of white light poured from Hermione’s wand, driving back the creeping cold around them.

Harry swayed and snapped awake, wrenching himself out of the nightmare’s shadow.

“Harry, are you all right?” Ron grabbed him, voice tight with worry.

“I… I’m fine,” Harry said, face still chalk-white.

He looked up at the ceiling.

At least one or two hundred Dementors were sweeping over Hogwarts.

There were too many. Even with mental preparation, Harry still could not shake off their effect.

Worse, his Patronus had failed.

In practice, he could usually cast the spell more or less properly. His Patronus still could not fully take shape, but it had at least been useful.

Just now, though, he had felt completely helpless.

Dudley had been right.

Casting it in calm conditions and casting it in front of a Dementor were two completely different things.

A Patronus required happiness. But when Dementors came, all happiness was torn away, leaving only endless dread and despair.

That woman’s scream, that vivid green light, he did not even need to guess what they were.

It was the night his parents died. His mother’s scream. The flash of Avada Kedavra.

“Harry.”

Dudley placed a hand on his shoulder.

The warmth of that grip cut through the freezing air and the suffocating hopelessness, if only for a moment.

Then a comforting heat spread through Harry’s body, as if he had stepped into summer sunlight.

Harry turned his head and saw the golden ring on Dudley’s hand.

“I’m all right now,” Harry said.

“Good. Steady yourself,” Dudley said. “Your Patronus isn’t the problem. There are just too many Dementors today.”

Harry nodded and did not speak again.

In truth, he knew the Dementors were still some distance from the Great Hall. If he could not cast properly even at this range, then facing one or two up close would not be any better.

The Great Hall had fallen into absolute silence.

Everyone stared up at the massive shadows rushing past overhead. Most could only wait in terror, praying the monsters would move on. Only a few could resist.

At the Gryffindor table, Ginny managed to cast Expecto Patronum. It was only a wash of white light, but it was enough to blunt the Dementors’ influence.

At the table beside them, Ravenclaw, Luna managed it too.

Her white glow was like the only light left in endless darkness, giving nearby students the faintest warmth, the faintest spark of happiness.

Ron raised his wand as well.

“Expecto Patronum.”

White light burst from his wand. It was not as strong as Hermione’s, but it was enough to protect him.

Seeing that, a few more students tried.

Neville. Seamus. Fred. George.

They were all members of the Kingdom of Order. Dudley had taught them how to cast the spell.

As time passed, more and more points of white light flickered into existence across the Great Hall. Some were fragile, almost too young to hold together, as if they might shatter at a touch.

But when those lights gathered, warmth began to spread through the hall.

Most of the Patronus light came from Gryffindor, then Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

All three Houses had members of the Kingdom of Order.

Only Slytherin remained drowned in darkness. No one there could cast Expecto Patronum. All they could do was endure the cold and the despair.

“Harry. Try again,” Dudley said.

Harry drew a deep breath, tightened his grip on his wand, and tried once more.

“Expecto Patronum.”

This time, rich white light finally poured from his wand.

“What… what spell is that?” a baffled Gryffindor student asked.

He was sitting beside Ginny, staring at the second-year girl in disbelief as she cast something that could hold back Dementors.

“It’s the Patronus Charm,” Ginny said proudly.

In all of Hogwarts, only members of the Kingdom of Order could cast it, and the thought filled her with a pride she had never felt before.

“Neville. You can cast something that advanced?” a third-year exclaimed, stunned.

“I… I’m not doing it very well,” Neville said, face going bright red.

“It’s still brilliant,” Seamus said.

The former “explosions genius” had, at long last, not blown up a spell.

Then again, this one did not seem like the sort that could explode. If it could, perhaps Seamus would still have found a way.

Boom!

The doors of the Great Hall slammed open.

Professor Dumbledore strode in with the other professors, faces grim.

“Oh!”

Professor McGonagall stopped short, staring at the dozens of white lights filling the hall.

“Patronuses…”

Dumbledore’s expression froze for a heartbeat. Then, at last, some of the darkness eased from his face, and a small, relieved smile appeared.

His eyes swept over the students casting Patronuses, before settling on Dudley.

“It seems these Dementors have not affected the students as severely as I feared,” Dumbledore said, voice heavy with meaning.

“They have already learned to protect themselves.”

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 311

Chapter 311: Refining Voldemort! Resurrection Ritual: Wait, Even I Can Get Played Like This??

No one answered Harry’s stunned, frantic questions.

From within the bundle clutched in the arms of that “Defence Against the Dark Arts professor,” a voice rasped out, hoarse as sandpaper, drenched in malice as if it had distilled every hateful thought in the world:

“You’ve finally fallen into my hands, Harry Potter…”

Voldemort?!

Harry recognised it instantly. He snarled and fought harder, straining against the scythe-shaped stone that had him pinned.

Voldemort chuckled, the sound thin and sharp. “Look at you. Without your companion, how miserable you are. How pathetic. How… pitiful.”

Harry’s grief snapped into fury. “You can’t even walk on your own. You have to be carried around!”

“Shut up!” Voldemort shrieked, the words coming out far too fast, far too raw, like he had been stabbed right through the ego.

Then he forced a sneer back into his voice. “Heh. Enjoy your mouth while you still can. Soon, I’ll use you to be reborn… and then I’ll kill you with my own hands.”

Watching Harry trapped there, Voldemort felt a pleasure so intense it was almost dizzying.

Soon, the world would belong to him.

Once he returned, once he reclaimed everything that was his, even “Mr Lamp” would not be able to stand against him.

From within the bundle, Voldemort cast a sidelong look at the masked man standing nearby, smug pride blooming in his chest.

He had never intended to share the world with anyone.

If anyone had to be blamed, it was “Mr Lamp” for being too self-important.

“All right,” Voldemort said at last. “Enough talk. Begin the ritual, Barty.”

And yet, when the order came, Barty Crouch Jr did not move.

Only when Mr Lamp gave a slight, almost lazy nod did Barty begin to tremble forward, step by step, towards the enormous cauldron that had been set up not far away.

Why was Barty Jr, a Death Eater, taking cues from Mr Lamp instead of Voldemort?

Harry’s brow furrowed as he caught the detail. The whole scene felt like it was wrapped in thick fog, everything blurred and wrong, except for one obvious truth.

Someone here was controlling everything.

Harry twisted his head as far as he could, fixing his stare on that pure white mask, trying to read an emotion that was not there.

Splash.

The swaddled bundle containing Voldemort was thrown into the cauldron.

The grey-green liquid inside bubbled violently, as if the pot itself had been fed a favourite piece of flesh. A stench rose, like rubber boiling down to sludge.

The masked man wrinkled his nose in open disgust, but when he looked at Voldemort sinking into the liquid, he smiled.

He did not step back.

He stepped closer.

At last.

He had spent an entire term preparing for this.

It was time to stew old Voldemort in an iron pot.

“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son…”

Barty recited dully. Under Mr Lamp’s control, he lifted his wand. The soil in front of the grave churned and peeled back, and a long-rotted bone rose out of the earth. Orange-red fire flared over it, and it was tossed into the cauldron.

Gloop.

The liquid boiled again, delighted, swallowing it down.

“Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master…”

Barty put his wand away and drew a dagger.

In Harry’s horrified gaze, there came a sickening chop.

Barty cut off his own arm.

Blood poured.

Harry’s eyes went wide. He struggled so hard his throat burned, but all he could do was watch as Barty slowly turned his head, pointing that stupid, dreadful face at him.

“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe…”

As he spoke, he raised the dripping dagger and walked towards Harry, one step at a time.

In that moment, regret rose inside Harry like bile.

If he had been calmer, if he had not let fury smash all sense out of his head and charge straight into a trap, would it have come to this?

His mind flashed, absurdly, to the wizard chess set Ethan had given him.

Warm blood slid off the blade’s point and spattered onto Harry’s skin, raising gooseflesh.

Two seconds passed.

The cut still did not come.

Harry blinked, confused, and lifted his eyes.

The pure white mask was right there, silent and close as a ghost, crowding his vision.

A voice spoke, amused and familiar in its cruelty. “Learned your lesson yet? Reckless Gryffindor.”

Harry: “…”

Please, just kill me.

Mr Lamp did not take Harry’s blood at all. He did not complete the ritual as the incantation described.

Instead, humming to himself like a man enjoying a stroll, he reached out and cheerfully yanked a clump of mushrooms off Barty’s neck, then tossed them into the cauldron.

Whoomph.

As if the ritual had been altered halfway through, the grey-green liquid surged upward. A faint, almost inaudible shriek seemed to echo from inside it, and the colour began to bleed into red.

“And next,” Mr Lamp murmured, “a Tier Three, purple epic painting: The Queen of Hearts’ Rose Maze…”

Ignoring Harry’s blank confusion, he dropped into the cauldron a crimson rose that looked like it had been painted into existence with pigment.

Whoomph.

The blood-red spread further, swallowing the grey-green until it was nearly impossible to see any trace of the original colour.

“And then, we infuse it with vigorous Lamp magic.”

He lifted his wand like a conductor raising a baton. Golden magic whirled around the tip, brightening the graveyard until it almost looked… holy.

Harry’s mind could not help itself.

You’re a Dark wizard. How is this kind of radiant, sanctified magic even remotely fair?

That overwhelming sense of familiarity hit again, harder this time. The unhinged logic, the baffling choices, the way reality seemed to bend to suit his mood.

It was too much like a certain boy with the surname Vincent.

Harry narrowed his eyes. A fierce curiosity surged up in him, urgent enough to drown out fear. He wanted to know what face hid behind that mask.

As the golden power poured in, a stranger, more twisted incantation flowed from behind the mask. A black wind rose, sweeping dead leaves and dry grass into a spinning ring around them. The sky darkened further as thick clouds blotted out the moon, like someone had covered the sky’s eyes.

And yet, on the ground, a blood-red eye opened.

Scarlet light erupted from the cauldron, staining the graveyard in crimson, draping every tombstone in a thin veil of red.

Harry stared, eyes stretched wide, so shocked he forgot to breathe.

They had sent Voldemort away, only to welcome something bigger and more vicious?

What did this lunatic “Mr Lamp” actually want?

“At last,” Mr Lamp said softly, “the most critical ingredient… a dark soul.”

In those deep blue eyes, the blood-red glow reflected like a flame. The excitement in them was so intense that it looked almost uncontrollable.

Then he smiled. “But it was already in the cauldron.”

Voldemort, selfless as ever.

A cold, mechanical certainty seemed to settle over the scene.

The ritual conditions had been met.

Refining began.

Boom!

A pillar of fire erupted from the cauldron, ferocious and blinding, like an offering thrown up to the heavens. In that terrifying red light, the night sky was lit up as if it were day.

“Aaaaaaah!”

A scream tore out of the flames, so agonised it scraped at the bones.

Harry’s eyes could not widen any further. He could only stand there, numb, watching the figure inside the fire.

Curled like a newborn.

With an old man’s face.

Its body was coated in slick, bruised-purple flesh.

Under the flame’s roasting heat, that flesh melted and sloughed away, revealing stark white bone beneath.

Just seeing it made Harry shiver. He could not imagine pain like that.

No, he did not need to imagine. The scream said enough.

“What did you do? What did you do to the ritual, Lamp?!”

Inside the fire, Voldemort’s face warped, melted, and twisted with disbelief as he stared at the man outside.

This was not resurrection.

It had been a perfect trap, foolproof, absolute. So what was this? What had happened?

Mr Lamp finally seemed unable to contain himself.

He lifted a hand and blocked Harry’s view of whatever was happening on the other side, as if Harry no longer mattered.

Then, right in front of Voldemort, he removed the mask.

When Voldemort saw the face beneath it, older, more mature, yet still unmistakably familiar, he shuddered.

He froze so hard that, for an instant, he seemed to forget even the pain.

And then, from somewhere deeper than breath, deeper than flesh, he forced out a howl that could make living things tremble.

“Ethan Vincent!!!”

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 366

Chapter 366: The Ruined Portrait

At that moment, huge numbers of students were streaming towards the Great Hall.

It was Halloween, and everyone was heading to the Halloween feast, so the common room should have been practically empty.

“Hi, Dudley, where are you going?”

On the way, plenty of students called out to him, but he had no time to respond. He sprinted straight for Gryffindor.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not hesitate for a second. They chased after him, wands already out.

Before long, Dudley reached the corridor where the entrance to Gryffindor Tower was, and then he stopped dead.

“Huh? Why’d you stop?” Ron skidded to a halt.

He had thought Dudley was rushing back because he needed to grab something from the dormitory.

“Oh Merlin!”

Hermione suddenly let out a gasp, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Harry’s eyes widened, shock flashing across his face.

Only then did Ron follow their line of sight towards the entrance.

The Fat Lady’s portrait had been slashed with deep, brutal gouges. The canvas was almost split right down the middle.

And the Fat Lady herself was gone.

“W-who did this?” Ron stared, stunned.

The portrait guarding Gryffindor had been destroyed. Shreds of canvas littered the floor, and a large section had been ripped clean away, exposing the passage behind it that led into the Gryffindor common room.

“What… what happened?” Ginny cried.

A few members of the Kingdom of Order had seen Dudley rushing back and followed him. Now they saw the horrifying scene too.

“The portrait was torn open by brute force,” Dudley said, reaching out and running his hand across the ripped canvas. “Someone forced their way into the Gryffindor common room.”

He could feel it. A foreign presence, a strange trace, stretching from the portrait and trailing deep into the common room.

“Go and inform Professors!”

“I’m going in to check. Don’t follow me!”

As soon as he spoke, Dudley lifted the torn canvas aside and stepped through.

The common room was vast and empty. Dudley swept his gaze around, but found nothing suspicious. He headed upstairs towards the dormitories.

He could still sense a faint lingering trace, the residue left behind as that person moved through here.

Dudley followed it to the boys’ dormitory, then pushed into his own room.

“He came in here, but… he didn’t stay long.”

Dudley’s eyes narrowed.

He checked the room, but nothing seemed disturbed. Nothing was missing.

All of Dudley’s valuables were stored inside the Mirror of Erised. The rest meant little to him.

“My things aren’t gone, and it doesn’t look like anyone else’s are either. So why come here at all?”

Frowning, Dudley walked back down the stairs.

Outside, Professor Dumbledore had already arrived, and Professor McGonagall was with him, along with the other staff.

“Oh, Merlin—has he really gotten into the castle?” Professor McGonagall looked horrified, as though she could hardly believe it.

“I’m afraid he has,” Dumbledore said, his gaze lingering on the marks around the portrait’s frame. “There are traces at the entrance.”

“We need to find the Fat Lady,” Dumbledore added, spotting Dudley coming down the stairs. “Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr Filch at once. Have him search every portrait in the castle. We need to find her.”

McGonagall turned and moved immediately.

Then Dumbledore looked back at Dudley.

“Did you find anything, Dudley?”

“No,” Dudley said. “I only sensed someone breaking in, but I couldn’t figure out what he wanted. Nothing has been stolen. He seems to have been looking for something.”

As he spoke, Dudley glanced towards Harry.

Dumbledore fell silent for a moment, then raised his voice.

“Everyone, go to the Great Hall at once. Tonight, we will search the entire castle.”

At Dumbledore’s order, the students hurried off, faces pale with fear.

They all knew who it had to be.

“Was it him?” Dudley asked.

“I’m afraid it was,” Dumbledore replied.

“I want to know what’s really going on,” Dudley said bluntly. “You’re hiding something from me.”

“I need to know exactly what kind of man Sirius Black is. Everything.”

Dumbledore considered it, then nodded.

“I will tell you everything. But first, I must deal with the school.”

Dudley nodded.

“Protect Harry,” Dumbledore said, then strode away.

He needed to contact the Ministry. Sirius Black might already be inside Hogwarts.

Dudley did not linger at Gryffindor Tower. He followed the others towards the Great Hall.

By then, the feast had been cancelled.

The tables were still piled with food, but the celebration was gone.

No one had much appetite. With a murderous fugitive in the castle, no one could calmly sit down and eat.

When Harry spotted Dudley, he immediately waved him over.

The moment Dudley sat down, Harry looked at him, impatient for answers.

“It was probably Sirius Black,” Dudley said, keeping it brief. “But I don’t know what he came to do. Nothing’s missing. The dormitories weren’t wrecked.”

“Then does that mean…” Hermione’s eyes flicked to Harry, frightened.

“Was he here for me?” Harry asked. He had already guessed it was possible.

“Yes,” Dudley said, nodding.

“Dumbledore said he’ll tell me the truth about Sirius later. Then we’ll know why he keeps trying to get to you.”

Harry stayed quiet, only nodding.

“Ron, this is all your fault. You and your big mouth!” Hermione snapped, deliberately changing the subject.

“Me? How is this my fault?” Ron said helplessly.

He had only said that morning, he wondered whether something would happen on Halloween again. And then it had.

“It’s once a year. Every Halloween, something happens,” Harry said with a bitter laugh. “Looks like we’ll have to get used to Hogwarts tradition.”

As he spoke, a wave of cold suddenly swept over the Great Hall, and everyone shivered.

The candlelight dimmed.

Outside, heavy clouds rolled in, blotting out the moon.

Heads lifted.

Dark shapes were streaking across the sky in great numbers, like enormous predators circling their prey.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 365

Chapter 365: Discord

“Just a bad relationship, I suppose. I don’t know the details,” Dudley said, wiping butterbeer from the corner of his mouth.

Harry laughed. He had only been joking.

He lifted his butterbeer and took a sip. It was actually decent, better than he had expected.

“The Hog’s Head butterbeer is all right,” Dudley said. “You just have to bring your own cup.”

Hermione and Ron tried theirs too.

“Fred and George told me the Hog’s Head attracts all sorts—pretty rough. They warned me not to come here,” Ron said, glancing around.

After what had just happened, the pub was noticeably emptier, with plenty of seats left vacant.

“Yeah,” Dudley said. “If it wasn’t rough, that wouldn’t have happened.”

He had only come over on a whim, and the place always gave him that oddly familiar feeling, like stepping into a life that belonged to someone else.

As they were talking, the Hog’s Head door opened again, and Kingsley came in from outside.

He glanced at Aberforth first, then turned towards Harry and the others and walked over.

“It’s getting worse by the day,” Kingsley complained as he approached.

Dudley twitched a finger, and the original mug of butterbeer on the table drifted over to Kingsley.

“Oh, thanks. I’m parched,” Kingsley said, grabbing it and downing it in one go.

“Erp…” Kingsley belched and set the mug down.

Then his eyes fixed on his cup, and on the cups Harry and the others were using.

“Why are our cups different?” Kingsley asked, frowning.

“Ours are ones we brought. Yours is from the pub,” Dudley said.

Kingsley looked down at the filthy mug in his hand. A moment ago, he had not cared in the slightest, but compared with Dudley’s clean cups, he suddenly felt like being sick.

“Sorry. Thought you wouldn’t mind,” Dudley said.

Kingsley waved it off, forcing down his stomach as it churned, then sat.

“All right. Back to business. Those two dark wizards have been handed over to the Ministry. They’ll get the punishment they deserve,” Kingsley said.

“A good outcome,” Dudley said.

“Honestly, I didn’t expect to see you lot here,” Kingsley went on. “I thought Professor Dumbledore would keep you in the castle, not let you run around.”

“Especially you, Harry. You shouldn’t be leaving Hogwarts.”

“For me, Hogwarts isn’t as safe as people like to pretend,” Harry said bluntly. “Sticking close to Dudley is safer.”

“But…” Kingsley tried to argue, then found himself without words.

It was true. A lot had happened at Hogwarts these past two years. It really could not be called safe.

“Forget it. As long as you’re all right,” Kingsley said at last. “But promise me you won’t be so impulsive again, all right? There are plenty of Aurors in Hogsmeade. If you shout for help, we can get to you in time.”

“You were lucky those two weren’t particularly strong. If they had been, you would’ve been in real danger.”

“Mr Shacklebolt, we’re not children anymore,” Harry said at once. “We know how to handle a crisis.”

Kingsley looked at the stubborn set of Harry, Ron and Hermione’s eyes and understood that they were not going to take his advice to heart.

“Fine. I’m not your guardian. I can only remind you,” Kingsley said. “With Dudley here, you do have a certain level of protection. But try not to stray too far from him, or he won’t be able to help you either.”

With that, he stood and left.

The Aurors still had plenty to deal with.

“I thought he’d praise us,” Harry said helplessly. “I didn’t expect another lecture.”

They had just helped the Ministry catch two dark wizards. Instead of any reward, they got scolded again. It left a sour taste.

“There’s nothing else he can do,” Hermione said. “Kingsley’s probably under a lot of pressure. If Scrimgeour finds out Dudley was causing trouble again, he’ll come looking for us.”

Harry did not answer. He simply finished his butterbeer in silence.

“Oh, right,” Hermione said suddenly, remembering. “We made appointments with a few students who want to join the Kingdom of Order. We still need to interview them.”

“You go do the interviews,” Dudley said. “I’ll stay here a bit longer, then I’ll come find you.”

“All right,” the three of them said.

They exchanged a look. Dudley’s mood did not feel quite right today. They said goodbye and left the Hog’s Head.

Dudley stayed, nursing his butterbeer until dusk was almost upon them, then finally got up to leave.

“Don’t come back. I don’t welcome students,” Aberforth said coolly as Dudley paid.

“Then next time I won’t wear Hogwarts robes,” Dudley replied casually.

He tossed down a Galleon and walked out of the Hog’s Head.

Aberforth watched his back in silence for a moment, then shook his head.

After meeting up with Harry and the others, they returned to Hogwarts before night fell.

“It went pretty smoothly. I know the students who want to join. They should be fine,” Hermione told Dudley.

“I did the maths,” Harry said. “Including us, the Kingdom of Order is nearly thirty people now. That’s already a pretty big group in the school.”

“These people we know well enough,” Hermione said. “But if anyone else wants to join later, we’ll have to vet them properly…”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Dudley had gone still.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

The moment they saw his expression, they all felt it. Something was wrong.

“There’s something… discordant in Hogwarts,” Dudley said quietly.

“Discordant?” The three of them looked at each other, not understanding what he meant.

Dudley did not explain. He simply focused, carefully sorting through that faint, subtle sense of wrongness.

This was his territory. Even the slightest discord could mean something was about to happen. Others might not notice, but as a Justiciar, Dudley was painfully sensitive to changes within Hogwarts.

Very quickly, he locked onto a direction and took off at speed.

“The direction of Gryffindor Tower…”

Now Dudley was certain. Whatever that discord was, it was coming from Gryffindor Tower.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 478

Chapter 478: Aerial Battle

Fiendfyre exploded, instantly melting the ice shield and burning the treant to ash. Because the treant bought them time, Sean and Snape had already reached the exit of Malfoy Manor.

But at that moment, a rapid series of pops rang out as Bellatrix, Barty Crouch Jr., and the others arrived in a rush, raising their wands to strike. Seeing Bellatrix and Barty aiming at them, Sean’s mouth curled into a smile.

“Do it.”

At Sean’s order, Yaxley and Avery, standing behind Bellatrix and Barty, struck without warning. In the space of a heartbeat, the two of them brought down four Death Eaters. Time was too tight for Killing Curses that demanded heavy magic and clear incantations, but they still used the spells they were best at, and the four Death Eaters they hit were left grievously wounded.

Bellatrix and Barty noticed the ambush behind them and stared at Yaxley and Avery in disbelief. They raised their wands at once, ready to deal with the traitors, but Sean’s contingencies never stopped coming. Two young Death Eaters guarding the manor gate, who looked as if they had been stunned into stupidity, suddenly snapped their wands up. They did not even try to defend themselves, only launched a frantic, suicidal barrage at Bellatrix and Barty. Under that desperate pressure, Bellatrix and Barty were forced back again and again, giving Sean and the others the time they needed to escape.

The four of them sprinted out of Malfoy Manor. The instant they cleared the threshold, a dark red slash fell from the sky, cutting straight through the burning treant and landing beside Bellatrix and Barty. Voldemort’s body took form. He flicked his wand once, and the two young Death Eaters Sean had controlled with the Imperius Curse were blasted away. Voldemort did not hesitate for even a second. With Bellatrix and Barty following him at once, he left Malfoy Manor and in the same motion cast a wide-area Anti-Apparition Jinx.

Bang, bang, bang, bang. Four muffled impacts sounded as Sean’s group was ripped out of the Apparition state. Their bodies, already twisting and spiralling as they were about to tear free of the space, were forced out of the void by the Anti-Apparition Jinx. Yaxley was the most miserable of them all; his footing broke, and he slammed to the ground.

“Split up,” Sean said immediately. “Voldemort will probably chase me, so you two go straight to the place I told you about.”

The moment they were forced out of mid-Apparition, Sean made his choice. He flicked his wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm on Yaxley and Avery, doing as much as he could for them. Then he grabbed Snape, and the instant Voldemort, Bellatrix, and Barty fully emerged from the manor, Sean and his Head of House turned into black smoke and shot into the sky.

“Sean Bulstrode! You are not leaving today!”

With a low snarl, Voldemort erupted into thick black smoke as well, wrapping Bellatrix and Barty inside it as he chased Sean.

Above London, two streams of black smoke raced through the air, one pursuing the other. Fortunately, London was fogbound today, and both sides were flying high. A few people in tall buildings might catch a glimpse of something odd, but an excuse like low-flying aircraft would do. If needed, an “expert” could talk nonsense on the telly and smooth it over. Even if people knew it was rubbish, give it time and they would forget.

Sean fled with Snape in tow. Snape watched Voldemort gaining behind them and said in a low voice, “Sean, put me down. I’ll hold them back.”

“I came to save you, Professor,” Sean said. “I’m not abandoning you.”

“Fool.”

“Say what you like.”

“Put me down,” Snape insisted. “Go to Dumbledore. I can hold out until he arrives.”

“Professor,” Sean said, glancing back at the rapidly closing Voldemort, “do you think I’m actually that stupid?”

Then Sean spoke again, voice steady. “Professor, do you really have that little confidence in yourself?” “With you and me together, can’t we beat Voldemort and his two lapdogs?”

Snape looked at Sean, saw no panic at all, only calm certainty. He let out a slow breath and nodded. “Fine,” Snape said. “Then let’s do it.”

The moment the words fell, Sean and Snape spun mid-flight inside the smoke. They drew their wands together and unleashed a storm of spells back at Voldemort’s trio. Beams, flashes, and crackling currents of every colour poured from their wands and flooded the sky.

Voldemort’s trio, also shrouded in black smoke, swung their wands in reply, defending where they had to, countering where they could, and firing back into the barrage.

Whip, whip, whip. Bang, bang, bang. Boom. Spellfire collided and detonated in the air, producing a rolling chain of thunder.

Below, Muggles heard the noise and looked up. They saw what looked like fireworks streaking rapidly from west to east and assumed some idiot was setting them off in this weather. Still, the “fireworks” were coming fast, and they did look rather pretty, shame about the fog.

While the Muggles watched, Sean and Voldemort’s Killing Curses collided once more. The explosion sent a shockwave ripping outward, striking both sides from every direction and tearing Sean and Snape apart by force. One slammed onto the roof of a building below, while the other fell as black smoke, crashing onto the top of a different office block.

Sean and Snape were not the only ones split apart. Voldemort’s side was torn apart by the blast as well. Barty and Bellatrix were thrown onto the same rooftop as Snape. Voldemort spread the smoke around him into a pair of vast black bat wings, dragging a huge mass of cloudlike darkness as he landed with a crash on the roof where Sean stood. Without a word, he fired the Killing Curse at once.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

Sean pulled the smoke around him tight and met Voldemort’s Killing Curse head-on, forcing another contest of raw power.

On the other rooftop, Snape used the access doorway as cover and fought Barty and Bellatrix. Snape had hidden his true strength for years, but now that he fought without restraint, he was not weaker than either of them. His Sectumsempra, invisible and formless, was lethally destructive. Even Bellatrix and Barty had to avoid it.

In the middle of that exchange, Barty flicked a glance at Sean, straining against Voldemort’s power, and said to Bellatrix, “Bellatrix, I’ll cover you. You go help the Dark Lord and finish Sean Bulstrode.”

Bellatrix’s eyes lit up. Without wasting breath, she burst from cover and charged towards the building where Sean and Voldemort were fighting.

Snape immediately moved to stop her, but Barty slashed his wand. Layer upon layer of flames surged in from every direction, blocking Snape’s path and swallowing his line of sight.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 364

Chapter 364: Aberforth

Kingsley hurriedly cast a spell to keep the wizard from smashing straight into the ground. If he died from the fall, that would be a disaster.

“You’d better tell me exactly what happened,” Kingsley said, looking at Dudley.

Dudley gave him a brief account of what had happened inside the pub, and added that everyone in there could testify for him.

But when he turned his head, he realised most of those witches and wizards had already vanished.

And the Hog’s Head innkeeper was still there, watching Dudley and Kingsley with a dark expression.

“Oh, they’ve all gone?” Dudley said. “Well, good. The innkeeper’s still here. He can testify for me.”

Kingsley turned to look at the innkeeper.

They locked eyes, and it was obvious they recognised each other.

“Is what Dudley said true?” Kingsley asked.

“Hmph.” The innkeeper gave a cold snort. “It’s true. But you lot brawled in my pub, you scared off my customers, and you damaged my floor. That all costs money!”

“No problem. Take it out of him,” Dudley said, pointing at the wizard lying by Kingsley’s feet.

Kingsley did not speak. The Auror beside him stepped forward and yanked the black cloth from the wizard’s face.

“Nilo Barry?”

The Auror gasped when he saw the man’s face.

“He’s one of the dark wizards on our wanted posters. We’ve been hunting him for ages. I can’t believe he got taken down by a Hogwarts student.”

Kingsley checked the man and confirmed he really was on their list. Only then did he let out a quiet breath.

If he was a criminal, then it was simple. No matter how badly he was injured, it could be written off as harm sustained during the arrest, and most people wouldn’t bother pursuing it.

Otherwise, Dudley would have been in serious trouble—especially now, with him completely fallen out with Scrimgeour.

“Take him. Investigate properly,” Kingsley ordered.

“And that one over there,” Harry added, pointing to the wizard Dudley had blasted unconscious in the distance.

“Need me to help interrogate him?” Dudley asked.

If that one was a criminal too, it would save Harry a lot of trouble.

“I’ll check first,” Kingsley said with a frown, walking over.

When he pulled off the black cloth, it revealed the face of a middle-aged man.

“Eric Birch.”

“He’s on the wanted posters too,” Kingsley said, looking up at the four of them.

“All right, then. He’s yours,” Dudley said.

Kingsley nodded, staring at them for a moment, not sure what to say.

They had spent so much time tracking these people down, only for four students to catch them with ridiculous ease.

It made the Aurors look a bit pathetic.

Still, given what Dudley could do, it was not entirely surprising.

What surprised Kingsley was that the other three were formidable as well.

“These are their wands. They should help with your investigation,” Dudley said, and he and Hermione each handed a wand over to Kingsley.

“Right. I’ll have my colleagues look into it properly,” Kingsley said.

Then he glanced at the Hog’s Head innkeeper.

Clearly, he wanted to ask him something.

But the innkeeper only flicked a look at Kingsley, then turned and went back into the pub, looking as if he wanted nothing to do with him.

While they were still talking, Dudley suddenly felt a wave of cold creep over him. He turned at once towards the edge of the village.

Harry and the others felt it too, instinctively hunching their shoulders.

“Damn it. Dementors,” Kingsley said, face twisting. “They’ve probably noticed what happened here.”

“Wait here. I’ll go see what’s going on.”

He sprinted off.

Dudley watched as several Dementors drifted slowly closer in the distance.

“We should go inside,” Hermione said quickly.

“Yeah,” Dudley replied.

They turned and went back into the Hog’s Head.

Dudley already understood what the place was like, so he did not react much. Hermione and the others, however, immediately frowned.

“Oh. This place is… really something,” Hermione said, choosing her words with care.

Dudley noticed that on his old table sat his crystal mug, filled to the brim with butterbeer.

He walked over and sat down.

“Want one?” Dudley asked. “It’ll warm you up.”

“Er…” Hermione looked at Dudley’s crystal mug, then looked at the filthy cups nearby, and could not decide whether she wanted to drink at all.

Seeing that, Dudley took out the Mirror of Erised and pulled a few more cups from it.

“Four butterbeers, please,” Dudley said, waving a hand as the cups floated over to the innkeeper.

Watching this, Ron lowered his voice. “I heard the Hog’s Head innkeeper is a really strange old man. We should not provoke him.”

“He seems fine,” Dudley said.

“Have you noticed?” Dudley added. “He looks like someone.”

“Like someone?” Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at the innkeeper again, frowning, but they still couldn’t put a name to the face.

The familiarity was there, but they could not say who he resembled.

Just then, the innkeeper came over with four butterbeers and set them on their table.

“Thanks,” Dudley said.

“This isn’t a place for you,” the innkeeper said coldly. “Finish your drinks and leave.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Dudley replied.

“Can I call you ‘Dumbledore’, sir?” Dudley asked.

“Oh!” The three of them looked shocked.

“No,” the innkeeper snapped.

“Then what should I call you?” Dudley pressed.

The innkeeper frowned. He clearly did not want to answer, but he also did not want Dudley guessing endlessly.

“Call me Aberforth,” he said, then turned and walked back towards the bar.

“All right. Thank you, Aberforth,” Dudley said, nodding.

He took a sip of butterbeer.

It tasted all right, provided it was in a cup he brought himself.

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared, wide-eyed, looking from Aberforth to Dudley and back again.

“So… he and Dumbledore…” Hermione began hesitantly.

“He’s probably Professor Dumbledore’s brother,” Dudley said. “Just a guess.”

“Their relationship is probably about the same as mine and Harry’s when we were little.”

“Did Dumbledore practise boxing on his brother too?” Harry asked without thinking.

Pff.

Dudley sprayed butterbeer all over the table.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 477

Chapter 477: The Pursuit

“Sean Bulstrode? How could he be here?”

“Lucius, what is this? How did he get in?”

Lucius was sitting right in front of Sean, and one of Sean’s hands was resting casually on his shoulder. Lucius did not dare say a single word. He was terrified that if Sean applied even a little pressure, his neck would snap, so there was no chance he would answer Bellatrix either.

When Bellatrix saw Lucius had no intention of speaking, she drew her wand and prepared to strike at Sean.

But a newly recruited Death Eater was faster than her. He whipped out his wand and tried to curse Sean, only for Sean’s wand to twitch lightly. The Killing Curses he and Voldemort were locked together in suddenly slipped out of control and shot sideways, striking that Death Eater squarely.

He dropped dead on the spot, a cold corpse collapsing to the floor.

Sean stepped away from Lucius and walked slowly over to Snape. He looked towards Voldemort not far ahead and bared his teeth in a grin.

“Tom, if you want me dead so badly, why don’t you do it yourself? Or can’t you?”

“Sean Bulstrode, spare me your tongue,” Voldemort said coldly. “There is no Dumbledore here. No Order of the Phoenix. Since you came, don’t even think about leaving.”

“Tom, putting you aside for a moment, these riffraff can’t stop me if I want to go.”

“Arrogant, Sean Bulstrode!”

“I’d like to see whether you’ll cry and beg when you die.”

Sean flicked a glance at Barty Crouch Junior and Bellatrix as they rose.

He chuckled. “Two slightly bigger pieces of riffraff. One is Tom’s lover, the other is Tom’s bastard son. I expected you two to start jumping.”

Voldemort turned his gaze back to Snape and spoke again.

“Severus, you have done well. You lured Sean Bulstrode here. Now, you only need to kill him. Do that, and you can still be my most loyal servant and most trusted subordinate.”

His voice sharpened into a command.

“Choose, Severus.”

Snape stood up slowly. He looked at Sean, drew his wand, and pointed it at him.

A faint smile tugged at Voldemort’s snake-like face. Before it could fully spread, Snape suddenly spun on his heel. His wand moved like a sword, slashing upwards towards Voldemort.

“Sectumsempra!”

An invisible blade shot out in an instant. Everything along the path of Snape’s wand was cut cleanly in two. That included the table between them and one of the old-guard Death Eaters, Crabbe’s father, the elder Crabbe.

In front of Voldemort, a shield floated in the air, shaped like a mirror. A deep sword-mark ran across it, almost splitting it in half, and cracks spread outwards from the cut.

Voldemort glanced at the mirror-shield, then back at Snape.

He was shocked. Shocked by Snape’s betrayal, and shocked by the true force of Snape’s Sectumsempra. It was beyond what Voldemort thought he knew.

“Severus. You chose to betray me.”

Snape’s eyelids lowered, then lifted again, his gaze heavy with pain and resolve. He took a step back, placing himself firmly between Sean and Voldemort, shielding the younger wizard.

“Since that day,” he said, voice thick with bitterness and regret, “I have no longer been loyal to you. I let my hatred blind me, my pride deceive me, and my weakness betray everyone I should have protected. I have lived with that mistake every day since. But I will not let it define me forever.”

Voldemort immediately understood which day Snape meant.

He stared at Snape, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet—so quiet it carried more threat than shouting ever could.

“Severus.”

The name landed like a verdict.

“You chose a Mudblood over me.” His lip curled, as if the word itself tasted foul. “You threw away everything I gave you—for her.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Then you will die like the traitor you are.”

The last syllable had barely left his mouth when the Killing Curse flashed from his wand.

Sean reacted instantly, stepping in front of Snape and raising his wand with his other hand, casting the same curse straight back at Voldemort.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

Two streams of sickly green power collided between them, throwing off crackling green arcs. Everything the stray energy touched shattered into nothing.

Behind Sean, Snape turned with perfect timing and swept his wand. A blue-white ripple expanded around him, blocking the curses fired by the other Death Eaters. At the same time, Snape finally revealed his true strength. While maintaining his Shield Charm, he kept carving his wand through the air.

Each slash forced a Death Eater to dodge, or else lose a limb, or be cut clean in two and killed outright.

Sectumsempra.

In Snape’s hands, its power was even more terrifying than Sean’s own Sectumsempra, even though Sean’s had been raised to LV5MAX. With every movement of his wand, anything within the arc of that motion was split in two.

Hummm.

Whoosh.
Boom.

With a deep, vibrating hum, the locked Killing Curses between Sean and Voldemort shot upwards and tore a huge hole in the ceiling of Malfoy Manor’s concealed chamber.

Sean took half a step back until his spine met Snape’s. Black smoke surged up around them. He carried Snape straight through the breach, bursting out of the chamber. As they rose, both of them swung their wands to block Voldemort and the Death Eaters, successfully breaking free of the net closing around them.

“Don’t let them escape, kill them!”

At Voldemort’s order, the Death Eaters in the chamber transformed into trails of black smoke and chased after Sean and Snape. That included Yaxley and Avery. Voldemort himself erupted into thick smoke and shot up through the gap, forming a gigantic Dark Mark above Malfoy Manor.

The serpent of the Dark Mark lifted its head high and spat a blazing torrent of magical fire at Sean and Snape as they fled under pursuit.

Fiendfyre!

“Sean, it’s Fiendfyre, dodge!”

“No need to dodge!”

Within the roiling smoke, Sean turned back and pointed his wand at the ground. Thick trees and vines exploded upward at terrifying speed, twisting together into a massive half-giant made of tangled wood and creepers.

At the same time, bitter cold fell. A gigantic shield of ice formed in the vine giant’s hands. It swung the shield up, batting a group of pursuing Death Eaters out of the air, then planted itself squarely in the path of the incoming Fiendfyre.

Boom!

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 363

Chapter 363: That Familiar Feeling Is Back

Every witch and wizard in the pub was completely stunned. They could only watch, dumbfounded, as Dudley hauled the man towards the door, no one quite sure how to react.

Even the Hog’s Head innkeeper froze in place.

He had seen things going south and had been ready to step in and help Dudley, but in the blink of an eye, Dudley had turned the tables, slamming that wizard into the floor like it was nothing.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

Clatter.

Dudley kicked the Hog’s Head door open and dragged the wizard outside.

Not a single person dared say a word the entire time.

The moment they were out of the pub, Dudley tossed the wizard onto the ground.

“Expelliarmus!” Dudley cast wandlessly in Hermes.

Whoosh.

The wizard’s wand shot out of his grip. Dudley caught it neatly, then released the man’s throat.

“Y-you…” The wizard scrambled backwards, eyes full of terror.

He never imagined a student who looked like a third or fourth year could react this fast. Not only had the boy not feared him, he had struck first, leaving him no time to respond.

What made it even worse was that Dudley hadn’t used magic at all at the start. He had simply overpowered him with brute force and pinned him. For a wizard, it was humiliating beyond words.

And now that Dudley had his wand, there was no chance to fight back even if he wanted to.

“Weren’t you just running your mouth?” Dudley sneered, staring the black wizard down. “Why so quiet now?”

For a moment, Dudley felt as though he had been thrown back to Backlund, back to the days when he hunted cultists through filthy streets.

“Go on, then,” Dudley said lightly. “Tell me. What illegal things have you done?”

“I… I haven’t!” the wizard blurted out in panic. “I was wrong. Please let me go. I won’t do it again. I swear!”

People like him were always bullies when they smelled weakness.

He had only dared to move because Dudley looked like a young student. He thought he could scare him, force him to hand over the mirror, and walk away richer.

Now that Dudley had shown real power, his courage collapsed instantly.

“Is that so?” Dudley’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Because it feels like you’re hiding quite a lot.”

He lifted a hand.

“Whip!”

Crack.

An invisible lash struck the wizard. Flesh split, and he cried out.

“Talk,” Dudley said coldly. “What have you done?”

A terrifying aura of authority surged from Dudley, and the air around them seemed to congeal in an instant.

Authority, backed by interrogation.

Dudley wielded both with effortless precision.

That familiar feeling returned, sharp and clean, like slipping back into an old coat.

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” The wizard’s voice shook so badly it was barely recognisable.

It felt as if his breathing had been frozen in place. Standing before Dudley, he was like prey before a predator that could decide his life or death at any moment.

One look.

That was all it would take, and he would die without even leaving a corpse behind.

He did not hesitate. He did not dare hold anything back.

“I… I stole things before…” he babbled. “I bought illegal Dark artefacts. I even hunted protected magical creatures…”

He spilled his crimes without pause, dumping everything out in a rush.

By then, quite a few people had come out of the Hog’s Head to see what was happening.

Their expressions shifted as they watched.

This Hogwarts student’s strength was far beyond anything they had expected. He had forced a vicious black wizard into total submission.

And if they looked at themselves, who among them was truly clean?

More than a few people did not dare linger any longer. They turned and left at once.

Crack, crack, crack.

Several wizards Apparated away in quick succession, the sharp sounds echoing in the air.

“Oh Merlin, is that Dudley?” someone gasped.

Not far away, Harry and the other two, unable to find Dudley at the Three Broomsticks, were heading this way. From a distance they saw someone in Hogwarts robes standing over a wizard, scolding him like a child.

Before they even got close, they recognised the build.

“It really is him!”

“Come on, hurry!”

They did not have time to think. All three broke into a run.

The commotion had already drawn plenty of attention, and most of the Hog’s Head patrons were outside now.

“Stupef…”

Suddenly, one of the wizards from the crowd raised his wand at Dudley.

“Expelliarmus!” Hermione snapped, casting wandlessly before he could finish.

The instant her voice fell, the man’s wand flew out of his hand and shot towards her.

“Confringo!” Harry whipped his head around and spoke in Hermes.

Boom!

A streak of light flashed, followed by a thunderous explosion. The wizard was blasted five or six metres back, slamming into hard stone and collapsing unconscious.

“Blimey, you two are fast,” Ron said, half impressed and half offended.

He had spotted the movement too and had just been about to cast, but Harry and Hermione had already done it. Disarm, then strike. They had not left him a chance to show off.

Dudley turned and glanced at the three of them.

“Not bad,” he said.

Then he hauled up the wizard on the ground, who had gone limp like a rag, and walked back towards the Hog’s Head.

“Dudley, what’s going on?” Harry demanded, rushing to keep up.

“Ran into a dark wizard,” Dudley said casually. “He tried to steal my Mirror of Erised. I taught him a lesson. As a bonus, he confessed to a few crimes he’s committed.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared at him, faces full of disbelief.

Crack, crack.

Two Aurors Apparated nearby.

“What happened here?” a familiar voice asked.

Dudley looked back and saw Kingsley.

The moment the tall Black wizard took in Dudley and then Harry’s trio, his head started to pound.

It had to be said that when these four were together, nothing good ever followed.

Then Kingsley noticed the half-dead wizard Dudley was carrying.

Kingsley’s vision went dark.

“Merlin’s sake,” he blurted out. “What did you do? Don’t tell me you just dueled a wizard!”

“Wouldn’t really call it a duel,” Dudley said with a small smile. “I was the one doing the hitting.”

He tossed the wizard straight at Kingsley.

“Caught you a dark wizard. He’s got quite a few cases on him.”

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 447

Chapter 447: Back to Hogwarts, Edmond Takes the Lead

While Aiden was busy pushing the conversion plan forward at full speed, Harry and Edmond prepared to slip into Hogwarts in secret.

They were still missing the final piece of the puzzle: female Tom’s most capable right-hand man, Severus Snape.

The four of them arrived at the Hog’s Head. Aberforth hated that people kept treating his pub like a secret base, but for Dumbledore’s sake, he pinched the bridge of his nose and put up with it.

He led them to a portrait, the painting of the sister they all loved most: Ariana Dumbledore.

The girl in the portrait turned and walked down the little path behind the frame. Harry, curious, asked, “Where’s she going?”

Aberforth ignored him, lifted his kerosene lamp, and walked away.

But far down the painted path, a light was swaying closer and closer, a kerosene lamp moving toward them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew their wands at once. Edmond already knew who it was, so he lifted a hand to stop them.

A moment later, the portrait swung open, revealing a hidden passage.

Neville Longbottom stepped out, holding the lamp.

“Neville!” the three of them cried, delighted.

“You look…” Harry started, then the words stuck.

“I know. I look awful, right?” Neville gave a dry, self-mocking smile. “Seamus looks worse than me.”

He waved them along, and the four of them squeezed into the narrow, dark tunnel behind the portrait.

“There’s no passage like this on the map,” Ron said, his voice echoing along the stone.

“Because it didn’t exist before,” Neville replied. “The other seven passages have been sealed. This is the only way in now.”

With a quick Transfiguration, Neville turned the kerosene lamp into a torch.

“Death Eaters and Dementors are everywhere in the school.”

“How bad is it since Snape became Headmaster?” Hermione asked.

“We hardly ever see him,” Neville said, glancing back. “The Carrows are the ones we have to watch.”

“The Carrows?” Harry repeated, confused.

“Yeah. Brother and sister. They run the place. They love handing out punishments.” Neville pointed to the bruises and marks on his face.

“They did that to you?” Edmond asked. “Why?”

“In Defence Against the Dark Arts today, they ordered us to use the Cruciatus Curse on first-years,” Neville said, spreading his hands. “We refused, so we got punished.”

Harry’s expression darkened.

Neville noticed and hurried to add, “It was Filch who carried it out. I don’t know how he does it, but he can make us look absolutely miserable without actually hurting us.”

They reached the end of the tunnel. Neville pushed open a concealed door and called into a cellar packed with students.

“Oi. I brought you a surprise.”

“Don’t tell me it’s food from Aberforth again,” Seamus complained. “That stuff isn’t fit for humans.”

Neville laughed, stepped aside, and Harry walked out from behind him.

“Harry!”
“Harry Potter!”
“Edmond?”

The cellar was packed with students from every House. It looked like everyone except Slytherin had been shoved down here. The living conditions were terrible, and they were even crammed together without separating boys and girls.

“So what’s the plan?” Seamus asked, buzzing with excitement. He looked ready to set the world on fire.

“We need to find Voldemort’s last secret weapon,” Harry said, looking around at all of them. “But we don’t even know what it is. I’m hoping we can put our heads together.”

Click.

A door opened overhead.

A figure came running down.

“Harry!”
“Ginny!”

Two voices rang out at once. The students quickly parted to make a path. Harry and Ginny locked eyes, neither willing to look away first.

“Uh, hey, Ginny,” Ron said, but she didn’t even glance at him.

He turned to Hermione with a wounded look. “I’m her brother. She hasn’t seen me in six months, and she doesn’t even say hello.”

“Brothers are easy to come by,” Seamus said, grinning. “There’s only one Harry.”

“Shut it, Seamus,” Ron snapped.

Ginny’s face tightened. “Snape’s calling a full assembly. They already know Harry slipped into Hogsmeade.”

Every gaze turned to Harry, waiting.

“Right,” Harry said calmly. “Let’s go meet him.”

He was not afraid. Dumbledore had already shown him the truth about Snape.

Soon, the Carrows’ summons spread through the castle by magic. Students had no choice but to pull on their uniforms and head for the Great Hall.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville used a Doubling Charm to get extra robes and blended into the crowd, while Edmond peeled away alone, heading off to take a walk through the school.

In the Great Hall, Snape paced on the raised platform, sweeping the students with a dark, predatory stare.

“I have heard that Harry Potter may have entered Hogsmeade,” he said.

“Now…”

“Any teacher or student who dares to assist Harry Potter will receive…”

“A punishment equal to their actions.”

Whispers spread instantly. Ever since the Death Eaters’ reign of terror began at Hogwarts, Harry’s name had only grown louder.

“Silencio!” Snape barked, instantly crushing the noise into silence.

After a moment, he released the spell and spoke again. “If anyone knows something and fails to report it, they will receive the same punishment as those who help him.”

He stepped down from the platform and walked into the middle of the crowd.

“Now then,” he said softly. “Does anyone have something to say?”

A hunched figure stepped out from among the students, head bowed. He lifted his hat.

“It seems you failed to stop me getting into Hogwarts, Headmaster,” Harry said, smiling.

A sharp breath went through the hall. Students backed away, clearing a wide circle between Harry and Snape.

“Harry Potter, you’ve walked into a trap!” the Carrow siblings shrieked, reaching for the alarm.

But the doors did not open.

And none of the Death Eaters stationed at Hogwarts responded.

“Oh, are you looking for them?” a voice said.

Space rippled.

A young man in a suit and heavy overcoat stepped out.

Dozens of pale-blue bubbles floated above his head. Inside each one, Death Eaters and Dementors hung frozen, suspended in place. Around the bubbles spun a ribbon of light, etched with strange runes.

“How…” the Carrows’ eyes widened.

Edmond’s hand drifted gently onto their throats.

“Good night.”

The bubbles expanded from Edmond’s hand, inch by inch, sealing the Carrow siblings inside. Time was completely forbidden within the spheres. Anyone weaker than Edmond simply could not break free.

Edmond turned, one hand resting over his chest, and gave a slight bow.

“Professor Flitwick. It’s been a long time.”

In the dim Great Hall, his golden eyes shone like lamps.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 362

Chapter 362: Forced Purchase

The moment Dudley spoke, every head in the room turned towards him.

The innkeeper of the Hog’s Head narrowed his eyes slightly. After giving Dudley a cold look, he said, “You’ve got the wrong person.”

With that, he turned and headed back towards the counter.

“Aren’t you Dumbledore?” Dudley asked.

The innkeeper’s body stiffened for the briefest moment, but he did not answer.

He didn’t deny it.

So the guess was right.

Dudley’s instincts told him this man was definitely connected to Dumbledore.

He claimed Dudley had mistaken him, yet he never actually denied being Dumbledore. That could only mean one thing. He was related to Dumbledore by blood.

Judging by his age, he was probably Dumbledore’s younger brother.

Dudley suddenly remembered the first year, when he had questioned Dumbledore. If you had a brother you didn’t get along with, and one day that brother dropped dead and left his son on your doorstep, what would you do?

Dudley still remembered the complicated look that had crossed Dumbledore’s face back then.

Now it seemed that kind of thing really had happened to him.

The man in front of him was almost certainly that estranged younger brother.

There was no proof, not a shred. But Dudley’s intuition told him he wasn’t wrong.

Several of the patrons nearby glanced at Dudley, their eyes gleaming with something that felt loaded.

Dudley did not bother responding. He simply sat there, relaxed, enjoying this rare quiet moment.

He had no interest in the butterbeer in front of him. The glass was filthy enough to destroy any urge to drink.

Still, from the smell alone, it did not seem terrible.

Thinking that, Dudley took out the Mirror of Erised and pulled a delicate crystal beer mug from within.

“Sorry. Could you pour me another butterbeer?” Dudley asked.

The innkeeper glanced at him and gave no reaction.

With a light flick of Dudley’s right hand, the crystal mug floated over to the bar.

Several gazes sharpened.

It wasn’t just Dudley’s effortless control of magic. It was that mirror.

It looked like a rare enchanted object with storage space inside, the kind that would be worth a fortune.

All at once, a figure wrapped head to toe in a black cloak stood up and walked over, then sat down at Dudley’s table.

“Shouldn’t you ask whether anyone’s sitting here first?” Dudley said, looking at him.

The cloaked man’s body stiffened.

“You’re a Hogwarts student?” the man asked.

“Obviously,” Dudley replied.

“This is the first time I’ve seen a student this arrogant,” the man said. “You don’t fear me at all. You don’t even know how to show respect to a wizard you don’t recognise.”

Dudley’s gaze turned slightly cold.

He hated that this stranger had interrupted the pleasant nostalgia the Hog’s Head had stirred up, memories of Backlund and old nights spent drinking with his team.

The man spoke again. “That mirror you used just now. I want it.”

“Name your price.”

Bang.

The butterbeer in front of Dudley exploded. Yellow liquid burst upward, but it did not splash down. It hung there in the air, suspended.

Across from Dudley, the cloaked wizard was controlling it with a finger, deliberately showing off his power.

People around them frowned.

It was obvious what was happening. This wizard had taken a liking to Dudley’s mirror and planned to buy it by force.

Dudley was only a Hogwarts student, and he looked young. A little intimidation should have been enough to make a child hand it over.

And the Hog’s Head had no Hogwarts students or professors present, which made the man even more brazen.

“Ten thousand Galleons,” Dudley said flatly.

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room.

The mirror was valuable, yes, but it was not worth ten thousand Galleons. The price was clearly a refusal, and more than that, a deliberate insult.

“Do you not understand me?” the wizard snapped. “This isn’t school.”

Clack.

He tossed a single Sickle onto the table.

“Hand it over.”

He reached out.

Everyone in the pub watched.

Some cowards quietly stood and left the Hog’s Head at once.

But more remained, eager to see where this went.

“This is the Hog’s Head. If you want to start trouble, get out,” the innkeeper said coldly.

He had already taken Dudley’s crystal mug and was filling it with butterbeer.

“Hmph.” The wizard grunted, but seemed wary of the innkeeper interfering further.

Instead, he lunged for Dudley, trying to drag him outside.

In the next instant, Dudley sprang up.

Before the man could even react, Dudley had seized the hand reaching for him.

Crack.

Dudley wrenched, folding the wizard’s arm back on itself. The sound of bone snapping rang out clearly in the otherwise quiet pub.

The entire Hog’s Head went dead silent.

But it still wasn’t over.

After breaking the man’s right arm, Dudley’s hand slid up smoothly and closed around the wizard’s throat.

Thud.

He slammed the wizard down into the floor with brute force.

Centuries of ground-in filth spiderwebbed with fresh cracks, grimy fragments breaking loose under the impact.

“Still want the mirror?” Dudley asked with a smile.

He was smiling, but to everyone watching, he looked more terrifying than a devil.

This was a fully grown wizard, completely helpless in Dudley’s hands.

More importantly, was this really the kind of strength a thirteen-year-old could have?

It made people wonder if Dudley had giant blood, but with his height, he did not look like a half-giant at all.

The wizard stared at Dudley in shock.

He had never imagined he would be slammed to the ground by a student, and without even getting time to cast a spell.

His arm was broken. Dudley’s grip was on his throat. With the slightest pressure, Dudley could crush his windpipe.

The strength coming through Dudley’s fingers did not feel human.

“I said troublemakers get out,” the innkeeper barked loudly, seeing the situation spiral.

Just as everyone thought Dudley was about to let the wizard go, Dudley nodded instead.

“All right. Put the butterbeer on my table. I’ll come back and drink it in a bit.”

Then, with one hand, he hauled the wizard up and dragged him towards the door, heading straight out of the pub.

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 446

Chapter 446: The Good and Evil of All Living Things, Preparations for the East’s Conversion

The beautiful dragon before them posed his question, mismatched draconic eyes staring straight into the children’s souls.

“Is that even a question?” the leader slammed his palm on the table. “Of course, we’d want it. Magic’s brilliant. You could conjure food, make clothes, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about survival ever again.”

“Is that so? Then let me have a look,” Aiden said.

He lifted a finger and tapped lightly.

Grey mist swept over them.

The boy, Brian Jenkins, was pulled into a dream, and the Writer began to run his future forward.

When Jenkins woke, he discovered he could use magic.

With a short black stick in his hand, he realised he could do almost anything.

The first thing he did with that power was take revenge on the bakery owner. Back when they’d been stolen, the man had beaten them half to death. Now, watching the baker tremble under his wand, Jenkins felt a deep, satisfied calm.

Then he conjured piles of food and filled his own stomach, and his friends’ too. After that, he took food and money back to the orphanage.

As his control over magic sharpened, Jenkins discovered he could influence people. He began gathering men and resources in bulk, pushing into Britain’s underworld.

A street orphan wasn’t made of softness. If anything, they often grew up without much reverence for life. Jenkins thrived in the dark, and once he became Britain’s biggest gang boss, he reached upwards into the world of the ‘respectable’.

Profit, bloodshed, schemes, betrayal.

That became his life.

In the end, a white-haired old man lay in a luxurious manor bed and placed his wand into his child’s hands.

“Legacy and selfish desire?” the handsome dragon murmured, lounging above the clouds against a chair woven from grey mist.

“So that’s what an ordinary person does after getting magic. Maybe I need more samples.”

Aiden opened his eyes.

Above the sea of collective unconsciousness, enormous dragon eyes appeared.

The dragon’s breath stirred a storm across the Sea of Consciousness, sweeping countless dreams into motion. The shared consciousness of the entire European continent was drowned in a dream, and the dragon's eyes entered sleep alongside millions upon millions of ordinary people.

“Tch. Lucky for me, it’s Europe under my watch,” Oliver clicked his tongue on the Atlantic island. “If it were anyone else, they’d drag people in to jump him.”

That night, everyone living across Europe had a bizarre, dazzling dream.

In their dreams, they became wizards, wielding power that could freely reshape the world.

Doctors, chefs, lawyers, firefighters, politicians, waiters.

All kinds of people, guided by their own wishes, raised wands and rewrote their dream-worlds.

Some used that strength to commit evil.

But far more of them used it, slowly and carefully, to make the world better.

“Interesting,” Aiden said, rubbing his chin. “There are plenty who do wrong, but once an individual gains power that can break through society’s rules, more of them still choose good. Or maybe it’s that plain, stubborn justice and kindness that ordinary people carry.”

Once he had a rough understanding, Aiden followed the Sea of Consciousness and drifted eastward.

East side

The Dragon-Tiger Grotto-Heaven.

"As the East’s first line of defence against the Deep Realm, Dongxia’s security was severe. Any wizard who tried to approach would be blasted to ash by defensive formations before taking three steps."

Celestial Master Zhang Chengrui, who had held the title for seventy years, lifted a pot of fine tea and took a slow sip.

Another peaceful, quiet day, he thought, glancing up at the artificial sky and sunlight above.

Boom!

A colossal object slammed in from the Misty Illusion Realm and crashed into the grotto-heaven.

In less than a breath, the entire Dragon-Tiger Grotto-Heaven went to full alert. Alarm arrays, defence arrays, strike arrays, all driven to their limits.

So was the Celestial Master’s blood pressure.

“Aiden Prewett!”

The old man’s roar echoed through the entire grotto-heaven.

Vast magic formed seven bright stars in the sky. Arranged from head to tail, they took the shape of a ladle.

Then those stars, carrying unstoppable might, smashed down toward the dragon head that had pushed into the grotto-heaven.

Boom, boom, boom…!

Seven explosions rang out.

Silence returned.

The Celestial Master sat back down in the council chamber he’d been in a moment ago.

Beside him, a dragon was rubbing its head.

“I only accidentally smashed your garden,” Aiden complained. “Was it really necessary to use the Silent Slate on me?”

Watching the little menace who had just destroyed the flowerbed he’d painstakingly built, the Celestial Master’s forehead veins pulsed.

“Hmph.”

He reached with his left hand for his teacup, while his right hand, hidden beneath his robes, trembled faintly.

Just now, he had pushed the Silent Slate with everything he had.

And this thick-skinned monster still hadn’t been pierced, even with his own strength reinforced by Protocol power.

The thought sent his mind drifting for a moment.

“Enough clowning,” the Celestial Master said, voice flat. “What are you really here for?”

“To consult a respected elder,” Aiden replied, wearing an innocent smile with a touch of cheek. “If I open up Avalon’s supply and begin large-scale conversion of wizards, will you… keep up with us?”

“You’re going to start a plan for everyone to become wizards?” The Celestial Master’s eyes widened in shock at the sheer madness of it.

“Yes,” Aiden said, draining his tea and idly turning the cup in his fingers. “The East has been fighting the Deep Realm longer than anyone. You should know the Misty Illusion Realm can’t hold much longer.”

“But there’s still some time,” the Celestial Master muttered.

“You can’t keep thinking you’ll just drag it out one more day,” Aiden said, giving him a slight prod. “Then, once it finally explodes, you just trust the next generation to figure it out.”

The old man sighed.

“You lot are always tormenting the elderly. You tormented my master back then, and now you’re tormenting me.”

“Because you all love holding onto the burden and never sharing it with anyone else,” Aiden said, lips curling, eyes bright. “Wouldn’t it be better to pass it on to the young?”

“Heh. Those brats? Not yet,” the Celestial Master snorted.

He glanced at a few disciples training below. A faint light flickered in his hand, and each of them got a sharp flick to the forehead, one after another.

“All right, stop provoking me,” he said. “If Europe starts the plan, the East will follow.”

He took out a document and handed it to Aiden.

Aiden opened it.

Six large characters stared back at him.

Universal Cultivation Plan.

“Good.” Aiden closed the document, set it down, and stood to leave.

“Wait,” the Celestial Master said, reaching out to grab him. “You’re ignoring the United States, India, Africa, and South America?”

Aiden spoke as if it were obvious.

“Africa’s Egypt has been ours for ages. Once the three of us agree, do you really think the Americans, with their temperament, won’t follow? And India is wedged between our two sides. Do they have the nerve not to? In the end, out of six major factions, five will be in. Who’s the last one going to be afraid of, if they’re not afraid of being isolated?”

He had arranged the other Silent Slate powers with a few casual sentences.

The Celestial Master clicked his tongue in amazement.

“Monster,” he said. “The things down below really have rotten luck, running into you.”

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 361

Chapter 361: The Hog’s Head

In the Great Hall, Filch carefully checked each student's signed permission form, making sure that nobody was trying to slip out without proper authorisation.

Once the inspection was finished, Dudley and the others climbed into the carriages waiting outside and headed for Hogsmeade.

After a while, the carriages came to a stop just outside the village.

This was Dudley’s first time seeing Hogsmeade in daylight. Compared with the silence and gloom of night, the village felt bursting with life during the day.

It carried the same sort of flavour as Diagon Alley, yet it was clearly different too.

If Diagon Alley was a magical shopping street, then Hogsmeade felt more like a magical market town, full of everyday warmth: pubs, a post office, ordinary homes, and all sorts of strange little novelties.

“Let’s go buy sweets first. Honeydukes makes brilliant candy,” Ron said, practically bouncing.

“Right. I heard they even sell blood-flavoured sweets for vampires. We can buy some and give them to Ginny,” Harry said.

“Harry, how could you!” Ron protested, then immediately added, “Then buy loads. And get some for Luna too.”

Hermione shook her head at the two of them, wearing the look of someone witnessing a lost cause.

Even so, she was clearly excited, following them towards the sweetshop.

“You go have fun. I’ll wander around a bit, and we’ll meet up at the Three Broomsticks later,” Dudley said.

He had no interest in sweets. He would rather stroll through the wizarding village at his own pace.

“Fine. See you later,” the three of them said, and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Dudley wandered through Hogsmeade unhurriedly.

The quiet little village was packed with Hogwarts students now. They ran around as if they had just been released from prison, letting loose in a place that belonged entirely to wizards.

Laughter rang out everywhere, along with the glittering, shifting glow of magical trinkets being shown off.

Then Dudley’s attention caught on a wanted poster not far away, and he walked over.

Unsurprisingly, it was Sirius Black’s face on it, still howling at the viewer.

“Sirius Black has been spotted around here recently?”

Reading the notice, Dudley’s brows drew together.

No wonder he had seen a few Aurors in Hogsmeade.

And there had been that cold sensation at the village entrance and exit. Dudley was sure the Dementors were nearby.

“Why would Black come here? Is it really for Harry?”

Dudley frowned.

He had forgotten to ask Dumbledore about Black.

After one last glance at the moving photo, Dudley turned away and continued wandering.

Lately, every time Dudley arrived somewhere new, he liked to walk around and learn the layout.

One reason was familiarity. The other was practical. If something happened suddenly, knowing the terrain made it easier to use his abilities.

An Inquisitor could make good use of territory, and with time to spare, Dudley did not mind walking without a destination.

Soon, he reached the outskirts of the village. Past the post office, only a single lonely pub stood ahead.

Compared with the bustle of the Three Broomsticks, this place felt bleak. There weren’t many patrons, and the windows were covered in thick grime, making it almost impossible to see inside.

“The Hog’s Head?” Dudley read off the sign.

He was not unfamiliar with the name. Hagrid had mentioned this place before. The Norwegian Ridgeback egg had been traded here, from Quirrell in disguise.

Thinking of that, Dudley suddenly felt curious.

He walked up and pushed open the door.

The inside was even darker than he had expected. Only a few candles, nearly burned down to nothing, gave off a faint, dying light.

The air was thick with a foul smell, like a strong mutton stench.

Dudley frowned, hesitating on the threshold.

Then a thought surfaced, one of Roselle’s famous sayings: since you’re already here.

Fine. Since he was already here, he might as well look.

With that, Dudley stepped inside.

The floor looked like packed dirt, but when he put weight on it, he realised it was wooden boards coated in centuries of filth.

Feeling that under his shoes, Dudley regretted walking in.

“Forget it. Roselle’s wisdom: it’s a holiday, you’re already here, and you’re still a child…”

Thinking nonsense like that, he found a place and sat down.

Looking around, he did not see a single Hogwarts student. He barely saw anyone who looked normal at all.

Most of the customers were wrapped in thick robes, covering themselves completely, heads and faces included, as if terrified of being recognised.

“How to put it… it feels like the bars near the docks in the Lower District of that other world.”

Dudley did not like much about this place, but it carried a strange familiarity, as if it had thrown him back to Backlund, back to those moments when he and the Beyonders in his team drank and talked together.

“What’ll you have?” an impatient voice asked.

Dudley turned and saw a tall figure behind the counter.

The man’s hair and beard had gone grey-white. He was tall and thin, and his face was hard to make out.

“Er… butterbeer, please,” Dudley said.

His eyes stayed on the man.

A powerful sense of familiarity rose in him, as if he had met this person somewhere before.

Especially the eyes. Hidden beneath thick hair, but unmistakably there, a glint of blue that felt far too familiar.

“I shouldn’t have met him, but he looks familiar. And those blue eyes…”

Dudley closed his eyes gently.

Whenever he could not remember something, he let his thoughts loosen and allowed instinct to replace reason. In that state, the answer usually came quickly.

Clack.

A dirty glass was set down in front of him with no care at all.

Dudley looked at the yellow liquid bubbling inside and lost any remaining appetite.

At the same time, his instinct had already given him the answer.

The innkeeper was standing right there, watching him.

“Dumbledore,” Dudley blurted out.

The Hog’s Head was quiet to begin with, which made Dudley’s voice sound painfully clear.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 190

Chapter 190: The Order of Merlin? The Boy Tom in the Diary

Passing Gilderoy Lockhart in the corridor, Leonardo pondered the details of the Order of Merlin.

The famous wizard Merlin had founded the Order of Merlin in the mid-11th century, the earliest magical organisation in the wizarding world. Merlin’s original goal was to help non-magical people. Any wizard who made significant contributions to the magical community could be awarded the Order of Merlin.

After many years of turmoil and peace, the Order itself eventually disbanded. But the Order of Merlin medal remained one of the highest honours in the wizarding world, awarded by the Wizengamot from the 15th century onward.

Leonardo considered the wizards who had recently received second and third class Order of Merlin medals—some of whom he knew personally.

Newt Scamander, for example, had earned his second-class medal for his groundbreaking work in magical creatures and magizoology. There was no wizard in the world who could challenge his authority in that field.

Lockhart’s third-class medal, meanwhile, was for his supposed bravery facing dark creatures and for the defensive methods he described in his books. The stories were not his own, but the methods were genuine and could be useful to others. It was the dissemination of these methods that earned him the award, since it could benefit the magical community.

Leonardo had written two essays—one on layered transfiguration, and another on transfiguring magical creatures. The first was an in-depth exploration of existing ideas, while the second genuinely opened new paths in transfiguration. Not everyone could master transfiguring magical creatures, but the layered principles described in the essay would help any wizard who could understand them to explore new directions. There was no doubt that this was a contribution to the magical world.

But he wasn’t sure how the Wizengamot judged and graded such contributions.

Dumbledore, after all, was the current Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Maybe he could ask him? When Leonardo had spoken to Dumbledore about awards, he had sensed something unsaid, as if Dumbledore had more to reveal.

If Leonardo could actually win an Order of Merlin—second or third class—it would instantly boost his reputation several levels. The resulting fame would also drive sales of his alchemical and potion products. He would need to arrange a trip off campus soon to check on his shops and update his inventory. With the Floo Network and Apparition, a weekend getaway would be easy.

Leonardo knew that winning awards in transfiguration journals would make him famous within that niche. But the Order of Merlin was a different story—it would be a sensation across the entire magical world. The rewards that came with it would be immense.

As for the first-class medal, that was out of reach. Leonardo compared himself to previous recipients and found a pattern: the first class was usually reserved for those who saved many lives or resolved a major crisis in the magical world.

Dumbledore’s medal was for defeating the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald. Others, like Orabella Nutley, had used repair spells to fix the Colosseum after a broom race, preventing Muggle exposure. Tilly Tock and her family had saved many Muggles during the Ilfracombe incident in 1932.

Sometimes, first-class medals were awarded posthumously, often for smaller but meaningful acts. For example, Norvel Twonk was awarded one after his death for saving a Muggle child from a manticore.

There were also “exceptions” who followed tradition: every retiring Minister for Magic awarded themselves a first-class medal.

In summary, to win a first-class Order of Merlin while still alive, one either had to resolve a major crisis or become Minister for Magic. But how often did such crises arise?

Would he have to wait until Voldemort returned, then defeat him in front of the world? Leonardo chuckled and shook his head, then decided to visit the Weasley twins to check on their latest sales.

Suddenly, a thought struck him—a snippet of Lockhart’s own words:

“…Controlling a monster to cause chaos… a real, visible adventure… saving a group of young witches and wizards, saving the future and hope of the magical world…”

Leonardo stopped and glanced back at Lockhart’s retreating figure. Ah, yes, that was exactly what Lockhart had said.

…

Soon, October arrived. The castle was filled with cold, damp air, and many students and teachers caught colds. Sneezing and coughing echoed through the halls.

But Madam Pomfrey quickly responded by brewing a cold potion that worked wonders, though it caused the ears of those who took it to steam for several hours. The sneezing and coughing stopped, replaced by whistling sounds like train whistles. Hogwarts became a misty, fantastical place, fitting for a magical castle.

Leonardo entered the castle and saw many students with steam pouring from their ears. Some were used to it, even finding it amusing, shaking their heads and laughing. Others felt embarrassed, hiding their faces behind books or sleeves, or wrapping scarves around their heads.

Leonardo wondered if he should develop a cold potion with no such obvious side effects. It wouldn’t be hard, and it would be a seasonal product, useful mainly in autumn and winter.

“Phew, it’s been raining so much lately,” Harry said, lifting his wrist to show Leonardo a blue bracelet. “Thank goodness for your water-repellent charm bracelet, or we’d be soaked and covered in mud after Quidditch practice!”

Leonardo glanced at Harry’s bracelet and smiled to himself. Of course, the rain was frequent. Aether, the thunderbird he’d brought back from Arizona, loved flying in the open sky, and his presence stirred up storms in Britain’s already damp weather.

Leonardo had designed the water-repellent charm bracelet to help Quidditch players train in the rain, shielding them from water and dirt with a layer of magic. Not only did the Quidditch teams buy them, but many other students did too. After all, it was cheap and convenient—much easier than carrying an umbrella or casting a spell every time.

More and more students discovered the comfort and convenience of Leonardo’s alchemical tools and potions, and they sincerely praised the boy who brought them all to Hogwarts. Loyalty!

“Honestly, thanks to Leonardo’s inventions, my training sessions with the team have been much easier,” Malfoy said, smirking.

Harry groaned. Ever since Flint had been put in detention and Quidditch practice stopped, Malfoy had somehow started leading the Slytherin team in training. Since then, every time they met, Malfoy could not resist bragging about it at least three or five times.

“Malfoy, is your captain’s detention still not over?” Harry asked, exasperated.

Draco laughed and shrugged, pretending to be disappointed. “Who knows? Professor Snape’s got plenty of toads, rats, and bats to deal with.”

…

Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor’s office.

Lockhart sat at his desk, the old diary spread before him. Now and then, he wrote in the diary with his flashy peacock-feather quill, muttering to himself:

“That monster… it really won’t kill anyone, right?”

“I just want a big headline, not a trip to Azkaban. That’s not exactly something to brag about…”

“That beast looks scary. It’s huge—could it eat people?”

He wrote these worries and fears in the diary. Strangely, his words vanished as soon as he finished, as if the paper swallowed them. Within seconds, new words appeared:

“That’s a basilisk. With my method, you can control it completely.”

“Don’t worry. As long as you don’t look into the basilisk’s eyes, the worst that can happen is petrification, which is easily cured. At worst, you’ll spend a few months in bed.”

“And no one will know you’re behind it all. The world will remember Gilderoy Lockhart as the hero who tamed the basilisk, saved Hogwarts, protected young witches and wizards, and became a legend in the magical world!”

“Praise, adoration, honour, fame… everything you could want.”

Lockhart read the words, breathing faster, but still hesitated:

“Tom, I’m still worried…”

As Lockhart’s words faded, he did not notice that tiny threads of life force and soul energy were being drawn from his body, vanishing along with the ink into the surface of the paper. They travelled deep into the diary.

Inside was a wide, circular room filled with strange silver instruments, walls covered with empty picture frames, and a Sorting Hat carelessly placed on a shelf. Anyone familiar with Hogwarts would be surprised by the similarity to the Headmaster’s office, though the details were different from Dumbledore’s current room.

In a large chair, a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy lounged lazily. His hair was jet black, his eyes dark, his face pale, but his features were blurred. Before him lay a diary, looking new, as if just put into use. Lines of ink appeared on the page—Lockhart’s handwriting.

The boy called Tom sniffed the air.

“The life force and soul energy are still too weak.”

His features sharpened a little as he read the diary, then he sneered.

“Cowardly, greedy, ignorant. I can’t decide if he’s easy to fool or not.”

Tom already understood Lockhart’s desires: fame, a real, visible adventure. Under Tom’s guidance, Lockhart had quickly agreed to use the basilisk to create a crisis. But when he actually entered the Chamber and saw the basilisk, he panicked. He hesitated, debating whether to release the basilisk, whether to create chaos and fear, whether to defeat it for glory and fame…

Lockhart had been following Tom’s instructions, and in his open, trusting state, Tom could steal more life and soul from him. But now, Lockhart’s hesitation slowed progress.

Tom needed more life and soul energy to strengthen himself. The “Tom” in the diary was only a fragment of the original Tom Riddle’s soul, separated when he was sixteen and fused with the diary to become a Horcrux. If he absorbed enough life and soul, he could complete himself and gain a new body. Then, the boy Tom Riddle could return to the world, and perhaps join with his original self…

“No,” Tom thought. “I am me. I’ll wait and see. I don’t know how my original self is now—has he reached the pinnacle of magic, become Headmaster of Hogwarts, ruled the magical world?”

Tom wrote in the diary:

“Gilderoy, my friend, if you’re still not sure, we can start with animal experiments. Let’s test whether the basilisk really obeys your command.”

The words vanished as quickly as they appeared. For the plan to work, Tom would make the basilisk cooperate with Lockhart’s “demonstrations.” But once he absorbed enough life and soul…

“Then the show will become real. If many young witches and wizards die at Hogwarts, Dumbledore will be forced from his Headmaster’s seat!”

Tom remembered how Dumbledore had lit a fire with his most cherished cabinet when he came to the orphanage. The flames had been fierce, beautiful, unforgettable. He remembered how well he had behaved at school, loved by teachers and students alike, yet Dumbledore alone had treated him like a thief.

When Tom learned from Lockhart that Dumbledore was now Headmaster of Hogwarts, his hatred and anger flared again.

“That narrow-minded man, who never understood my talent—how dare he be Headmaster? He only uses magic and authority to force others to accept his will, just as he did back then!”

Tom would get a new body and drive Dumbledore from Hogwarts. He would make Lockhart obey his commands, offering life and soul piece by piece.

Seeing the words appear in the diary, Lockhart gripped his peacock-feather quill, still uneasy:

“Animal experiments? The students have plenty of pets, and there’s that cat wandering around the school… Hmph. What kind of magical school allows such a filthy stray?”

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 189

Chapter 189: Leonardo, Do You Have Dress Robes for Awards? Start Looking for a New Professor

Harry rubbed his messy black hair, leaving the hospital wing after visiting the injured teammates, and wandered down the corridor by himself.

A perfectly ordinary Quidditch practice had somehow turned into a wizard “battle”.

As for punishment, Professor McGonagall had been furious. Such a group brawl had not happened at Hogwarts for years. But when she learned the reason for the fight, she grew even angrier. After a brief lecture, she stormed out of her office, saying she would go straight to Snape and demand an explanation. How could such vicious discrimination be allowed at school?

She had only confiscated Ron’s Air Gun and sentenced him and Hagrid to a half-day patrol of the Forbidden Forest. She did not mention anything about Flint’s injuries or the cost of the broken broom.

Given Ron’s friendship with Hagrid, it was less of a punishment and more of a walk in the woods during daylight. Ron was already excitedly heading to Hagrid’s hut, muttering about finding materials in the Forbidden Forest to build a new Air Gun and upgrade it with extra features.

Harry wasn’t sure whether he should warn Ron. He just felt Ron was becoming more and more like Mr Weasley, and no wonder—they both loved tinkering with odd inventions.

And then there was Hermione…

Thinking of her made Harry’s head ache. Afterwards, her eyes were still a bit red, and she found Harry to say a few things.

Harry had assumed she was upset about Flint’s use of the word “Mudblood”. He had not known what it meant at first, but Ron explained, and Harry understood just how vicious it was. He knew how awful that brutish Slytherin captain had been.

He was struggling to find the right words to comfort her when she asked a strange question: would he help her find a potion that could change teeth?

Harry was confused at first, but then he realised she might have been deeply hurt by the insult to her teeth. As her friend, Harry promised to look through books for relevant potions.

Hermione thanked him, then added that he did not need to avenge her against Flint. She had already thrown a barrage of spells at that idiot, and if he ever dared to provoke her again, she would use Leonardo’s method to show that arrogant fool the true power of knowledge.

Harry believed her without a doubt. He had seen how fast she could cast spells, and he knew Leonardo’s saying—“knowledge equals power”—was absolutely true in the wizarding world.

He also remembered he had not yet asked Leonardo why he was carrying a broom back from the pitch that morning. He wondered where Leonardo was now.

…

The Headmaster’s office.

Even though the first-year incident with Quirrell was long past, Leonardo and Dumbledore still kept their tradition of afternoon tea every week.

“Headmaster, these are some candies I made. Would you like to try them?”

Leonardo pushed several differently packaged candies towards Dumbledore, whose eyes immediately sparkled with interest. He picked up a packet and examined it closely.

“Hmm, they look delicious. But I suppose eating them might bring about some interesting little changes?” Dumbledore said, picking up the packet of hair-colour-changing candies.

Leonardo was a bit disappointed. He had hoped to see the Headmaster with dyed hair, but Dumbledore saw straight through the candies’ special nature—exactly what Leonardo expected. After all, the greatest wizard of the age was no stranger to potions.

“I’d still like to try them,” Dumbledore said.

He popped a yellow disc-shaped candy into his mouth and crunched it up.

“Oh, lemon flavour. Very nice,” he said.

The next second, Dumbledore’s hair and beard turned yellow, matching his robes perfectly.

Noticing the change, Dumbledore only chuckled and stroked his beard, clearly amused. He picked up a purple candy and ate it, and his hair and beard turned purple.

Soon, Dumbledore had finished the whole packet and asked Leonardo what they were.

“Headmaster, those are Rainbow Candies. The colours correspond to different flavours, but they’re mainly hair-colour-changing potions. You’ve seen the effects.”

Dumbledore picked up the next packet of sweets.

“And this one? It looks rather springy.”

Leonardo explained, “These are Elastic Chews. After eating them…”

But before he could finish, Dumbledore had already begun “testing” them. After swallowing one, he seemed to turn into a rubber man, his fingers stretching like elastic when he tugged at them.

Unlike the Rainbow Candies, the Elastic Chews had the same effect regardless of colour or flavour. Dumbledore still ate one after another until the entire packet was gone.

Of course. The old man clearly just couldn’t resist sweets.

Dumbledore’s emotions were truly vibrant, no less than those of a child or teenager. Leonardo glanced at the multicoloured crystal ball in his pocket, quietly collecting emotions as material for the Philosopher’s Stone. He could see vivid, rich emotional ribbons drifting from Dumbledore himself.

“Delicious and entertaining. This old man enjoys them, so the children will too.”

Dumbledore picked up another packet and started opening it.

“By the way, Leonardo, you’ve invented quite a few alchemical items and potions this term, and you’ve even had the Weasley twins help you sell them.”

“It seems you’ve learned a great deal from Nicolas.”

Leonardo nodded and refilled Dumbledore’s empty teacup with honey water.

“My teacher’s guidance has been invaluable.”

Dumbledore smiled, then sighed.

“When Nicolas wrote to me, saying you would be his last student, I was truly surprised. I thought that after he set his gaze on the heavens, he would no longer concern himself with the mundane world.”

Dumbledore had known of Nicolas’s regret—his unmatched alchemical knowledge had never found a proper heir. But from Nicolas’s attitude in his letters, Dumbledore understood that he saw Leonardo as a true successor, a student worthy of his legacy.

Dumbledore was happy for his old friend and for Leonardo. He knew Leonardo was passionate about learning and chasing knowledge. In the field of alchemy, there was no one more knowledgeable than Nicolas Flamel.

“Oh, Leonardo, your two Transfiguration essays from the summer holidays are nearly through review at Transfiguration Today.”

“Ha. At your age, publishing in an authoritative magical academic journal is unprecedented.”

Dumbledore remembered something else, something that required his attention as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.

“Leonardo, you do have formal dress robes, don’t you? The kind you wear for award ceremonies?”

…

The Headmaster’s office.

Hearing Dumbledore mention dress robes, Leonardo was a bit surprised. Dress robes? Award ceremonies?

If it were for an award…

Considering what Dumbledore had just said about his Transfiguration essays, it was probably related to that.

Leonardo thought for a moment. For Transfiguration awards, it was likely the prize given by the Society of Transfiguration, the most authoritative association in the wizarding world.

Publishing or winning an award would greatly boost his reputation in the magical world, and that would help sell his alchemical and potion products.

He remembered reading about this award in a book. It came with an actual medal, called the Ring of All Forms. It was described as a magical item with some interesting abilities. He really wanted to study it.

“Headmaster, I do have dress robes. I had them custom-made at Twofold Tailors in Diagon Alley. Are you referring to the Ring of All Forms awarded by the Society of Transfiguration?”

Dumbledore nodded. There was indeed an award from the Society of Transfiguration, but there was another one…

Dumbledore decided to keep it a surprise, probably something for Halloween or Christmas.

“You’ve been taking classes for a while now, Leonardo. What do you think of our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?”

What did he think of Lockhart?

Did Dumbledore really need to ask?

Leonardo answered directly, “Headmaster, you know Lockhart hasn’t actually taught any real magic, right? Not just for our year, but from what I’ve heard, he does the same with the older students—just talks about his own books, and even makes students act out scenes.”

“This… isn’t really what a teacher, or a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, should be doing, is it?”

Dumbledore folded his hands, his tone calm.

“Every teacher has their own style. Professor Lockhart has a wealth of experience, having faced many dark creatures. Those valuable experiences are worth learning for students.”

Leonardo met Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes and sighed.

“Headmaster, you—the greatest wizard of the age—can’t possibly miss the, uh, ‘peculiar’ nature of those experiences?”

Leonardo refused to believe Dumbledore could not see through Lockhart’s empty show. Not just because of his magical prowess, but with over a hundred years of life experience, his wisdom should have spotted the fraud at once.

A person needed substance, but Lockhart’s substance could not support his reputation.

The office fell silent.

After a while, Dumbledore picked up another candy and spoke slowly.

“Students can learn more than just magic. They can learn positive lessons, like virtue and responsibility, but also negative ones, like mistakes and lessons.”

“Leonardo, I understand your dissatisfaction. You want to learn truly meaningful knowledge, and Lockhart may not satisfy that. For Defence Against the Dark Arts, you can always ask me during our tea.”

After Dumbledore finished, Leonardo still stared into his eyes.

“Headmaster, I’m happy to learn from you, but what about the others?”

“I’ve always believed school is a place for learning. Students should learn the knowledge they need here, no matter who they are.”

“Are you really willing to sacrifice an entire school year, using a ‘fraud’ to teach students life lessons, like honesty?”

Leonardo put heavy emphasis on the word “fraud”.

“Not counting the other years, what about the fifth and seventh years? They’re preparing for important exams that affect their future. Defence Against the Dark Arts is a major subject.”

Hearing Leonardo’s words, Dumbledore could not help but smile bitterly.

“Ah, but you’ve probably heard about the curse on our school’s Defence Against the Dark Arts position. It’s real.”

“That’s why others are afraid of the job. It’s hard to find a teacher every year. This year…”

Dumbledore shook his head helplessly.

“This year, only one person applied. That was Lockhart.”

Only Lockhart?

That didn’t sound right. Given Snape’s obsession, Leonardo suspected he applied for the position every year.

Leonardo gave Dumbledore a suspicious look, thinking Dumbledore simply did not want Snape to fall victim to the curse. After all, Snape still had to play double agent for Voldemort.

Now it was clear Dumbledore would not voluntarily replace Lockhart.

Then Leonardo would have to use his own methods to help this professor retire early and bring in a proper teacher.

From what he had seen of Lockhart’s progress with the diary, things might be moving faster than in the original timeline.

Hmph. An adult, and still so easily fooled.

“Headmaster, if that’s the case, there’s nothing to be done. You have your reasons.”

Dumbledore comforted himself with a sip of honey water, thinking Leonardo was thoughtful and understanding. But Leonardo’s next sentence almost made him choke.

“So, Headmaster, you could start looking for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor now. After all, with the curse, Lockhart will probably only last a year. He might even retire early. We should be prepared, right?”

Why did Lockhart sound like he was doomed?

Seeing Dumbledore actually consider the idea, Leonardo felt he had administered the right preventative dose.

They chatted a while longer about the morning’s conflict between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Again, it was about pure-blood discrimination against half-blood and Muggle-born witches and wizards. Leonardo mentioned the risk of pure-blood parents coming to school to cause trouble. Dumbledore said clearly that as long as he was there, Hogwarts would not be dominated by pure-blood interests.

Leonardo had no doubt about that. Even if pure-blood families were dissatisfied with Dumbledore, they would not dare to openly challenge him. Without rules to protect them, they could only gamble that Dumbledore would not kill them all before his magic ran out.

Leonardo said goodbye to Dumbledore and left the Headmaster’s office.

Wandering through the castle, he occasionally greeted people he knew.

As he walked, he saw Lockhart, still dressed in his flashy silver-blue robes, so bright it made others squint.

Lockhart’s chest was still covered in medals, with the Order of Merlin prominently displayed. It was only third class, but it was Lockhart’s most prestigious award.

Leonardo glanced at the golden star-shaped medal with a cross design.

The Order of Merlin.

Wait. The Order of Merlin?

A sudden thought flashed through Leonardo’s mind:

If he was making such achievements in Transfiguration, could he actually be in line for an Order of Merlin himself?

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 476

Chapter 476: Forcing the Issue

Yaxley was used to Bellatrix’s attitude.

In truth, Bellatrix looked down on almost everyone under Voldemort. Apart from Barty Crouch Jr, who enjoyed favour almost equal to her own, and her husband and brother-in-law, the Lestrange brothers, only the Malfoys barely counted as people she could tolerate. Everyone else was beneath her.

Yaxley flicked a glance at Bellatrix and felt nothing but contempt.

What right did she have to look down on him? Yes, he had failed his mission, but had she not once lost something important of Voldemort’s and spent ages on her knees begging forgiveness? She had thought locking it away in Gringotts would keep it safe, and in the end it had still been stolen, along with everything in the Lestrange vault.

Yaxley found a corner and sat down. He glanced towards another corner not far away, where Avery was seated. Their eyes met briefly, a quick, subtle exchange, and then they both lowered their gaze and waited in silence.

Yaxley looked calm, but inside his thoughts were in chaos. The main reason he followed Sean was that he was controlled, and only after that came Sean’s power and the rest of it. As for Avery, he was a hopeless worshipper, not worth using as a yardstick.

While Yaxley and Avery waited, Snape emerged from the concealed chamber and sat down at the central table. Barty Crouch Junior soon followed, taking his seat. Then came Lucius Malfoy, and after him Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers, as Voldemort’s core Death Eaters gathered and sat.

Death Eaters like Yaxley and Avery were only second-tier. They were older and ranked above the newly recruited, but that was all. They did not have the right to sit at the central long table.

Not long after, Voldemort walked out from within the concealed chamber. He looked around without speaking, gave the slightest nod, and seated himself in the main chair.

In the next moment, three house-elves Apparated in one after another, set out tea and pastries for those at the table, and vanished just as quickly. Hidden, silent, and formless, Sean saw Kreacher among them, and the corner of his mouth lifted. The plan had worked. Even if he took Snape away tonight, Kreacher would remain at Voldemort’s side to gather information for him.

“This meeting concerns several matters,” Voldemort said.

“First, at the Ministry, some of our people fell into the hands of the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry itself. They are now imprisoned in Azkaban, and the Ministry has strengthened its guard. But they have not fully driven out the Dementors. That is our chance. It is time for Azkaban to disappear completely.”

The Death Eaters burst into laughter and cheered.

Voldemort watched them and nodded slowly before continuing.

“Second, it’s time to gather the dark wizards from across the world. We’ve rested long enough. Now, we recruit, build our strength, and then crush the wizarding world in one decisive strike. We’ll take Hogwarts and remake this world into a pure-blood society. Muggles and Mudbloods—those who are lucky might earn the honor of serving us. If they refuse, they’ll have no place in this world.”

The Death Eaters clapped and shouted their approval.

Then Voldemort’s tone sharpened.

“However, no matter how fine our plan is, there are always those who interfere. Dumbledore. The Ministry. And…”

His voice turned cold as ice.

“Sean Bulstrode.”

Voldemort’s gaze shifted to Snape, seated second on his left. Following that gaze, every Death Eater at the table turned to look at Snape as well.

“Severus,” Voldemort said, “you have always been the one who pleased me most, the one who caused me the least trouble. You even saved Barty from Sean Bulstrode. I have been generous with you. Yet you have disappointed me. I gave you ample time, and you still have not completed your task.

“If it were only because Sean Bulstrode is powerful and you had no opportunity, that would be one thing. But I heard you spent more than two months in a laboratory with him, conducting research. As a top Potions Master, are you telling me you had not even a single chance?”

Snape had expected this, so he answered at once.

“Master, Hogwarts is Dumbledore’s territory, and Sean Bulstrode has been wary of me all along, so I…”

“Lies, Severus. Lies.”

Voldemort’s expression turned deadly.

“Perhaps I have been too kind to you in the past. I will give you one final chance. Ten days. Within ten days, I want to see concrete action. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to punish you.”

By all logic, Snape should have agreed immediately. Yet for some reason, the words caught in his throat. He knew he could lie. He knew he only needed to say what Voldemort wanted to hear. And still, he could not force out even a single sentence that confirmed he would harm Sean.

“Master, I…”

Snape’s hesitation made Voldemort’s eyes go completely cold. Voldemort rose slowly, looming over him.

“Severus,” he said, “you have disappointed me beyond measure.”

In that instant, a suffocating sense of danger exploded in Snape’s chest. He clenched his teeth until his jaw ached, trying to speak, but nothing came.

Just as Snape seemed about to resign himself, Voldemort’s hand drifting towards his wand, a voice no one present expected suddenly sounded beside every ear, accompanied by a soft chuckle.

“Tom, if you want me dead so badly, why don’t you do it yourself?”

Voldemort’s eyes flashed. Without the slightest hesitation, he drew his wand and fired a murky green beam towards the voice.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The Killing Curse burst from Voldemort’s wand.

At the same moment, a figure appeared at the far side of the long table, directly behind Lucius. He raised his wand, and its tip blazed with the same killing green as Voldemort’s curse. The two dark green beams collided head-on.

“Avada Kedavra!”

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 445

Chapter 445: The Descent Ritual in the Atlantic, The Writer’s Move

While Aiden was still arguing his way out of Aunt Molly’s wrath, a remote island deep in the Atlantic was busy with a very different kind of work.

At the centre of the island, a group of Muggles in long black robes moved in orderly silence, using the materials female Tom had provided to complete the final stage of the ritual.

“Lady Veronica, the whole job’s finished,” the foreman of a European labour crew said to one of the robed figures. “Shouldn’t you be settling the payment now?”

“Payment?” The woman called Veronica slowly applied crimson lipstick, pressed her lips together, then offered the foreman a smile that felt… wrong.

“Yes,” she said. “Go gather the rest of the workers. You’ve all worked hard these days. I’ll give everyone an extra bonus.”

The foreman, a man with no magic at all, could not see the face hidden beneath her hood.
He could not see the clustered eyes packed into her sockets—too many pupils squeezing together, shoving and straining as if they wanted to push past her eyelids just to admire the world.

“Soon, soon. Don’t worry, my lords, we’ll definitely…” Veronica pulled her hood lower, then made a phone call. At her summons, the other black-robed figures began to gather.

At the workers’ camp, word spread that today they would receive an extra reward. Many of the labourers even changed into cleaner clothes, hoping to look more presentable in front of the client, maybe earn a little more.

They stood together, full of excitement, waiting.

Some were already planning what to buy for their wives and children once the money came in.

They would never get the chance.

The black-robed figures surrounded them. In perfect unison, they drew automatic rifles from under their robes and opened fire.

Gunshots thundered across the lonely island.

Within moments, the workers became corpses that still held a trace of warmth.

The robed figures packed the bodies away like cargo, hauled them to the island’s centre, and fed them into a gigantic ritual that covered the entire island.

“Feast, my Lord. The day of Your descent is close.”

Veronica knelt with the others at the blood-red core.

The ritual site stirred power, gnawing bit by bit at the boundary between reality and illusion, until the Deep Realm’s force began to seep onto the ground without anyone noticing.

Yet at the edge of the island, a small boat slipped in quietly, hidden beneath the cover of a cathedral built from bones.

Only two people were on board.

The Deep Realm King, the controller of Hell, Ethan Beckett.

The controller of Death, the holder of the Silent Slate, Oliver Graves.

(TL Note: The surnames used here may have been the correct ones from the beginning. If anyone remembers differently, please let me know so I can make the necessary corrections.)

“Just the two of us. Are you sure that’s enough?” Ethan muttered. “And Edmond even gave me this thing.”

A tiny church floated above his palm.

“Don’t underestimate it,” Oliver said, lifting his brows at him. “That’s Aiden’s divine kingdom.”

The moment they stepped off the boat, the vessel folded in on itself like paper, shrinking and vanishing.

“So what now?” Ethan sat down on a rock by the shore.

“This,” Oliver said, pulling out a glass bottle.

Grey mist churned inside. At the centre of the fog grew a towering tree that seemed to touch the sky, radiating a vivid emerald glow.

From the instant the bottle appeared, the plants around them reacted as if enchanted, their growth accelerating at a visible pace.

“Interesting,” Ethan murmured. Magic coiled around his fingers as he reached out and caught a thread of that green radiance from the air.

“An Eastern treasure,” Oliver said, stowing the bottle away as he explained. “A Deep Realm weapon. Jianmu.”

“Five thousand years ago, Eastern wizards discovered and captured the Deep Realm King who descended directly into the East at the time. Life. Then they began a long study of it.

“To suppress Life, they balanced it with the death of an entire nation, forging a life and death equilibrium and building a massive alchemical matrix called the Huntian Secret Rite.

“What I’m holding is a replica of that Huntian Secret Rite.”

Ethan blinked. “And what’s it for?”

“Plenty,” Oliver said, the corners of his mouth already lifting. “The biggest use is deploying the weapon they created, Jianmu. A great tree that grows in both illusion and reality at once.

“If those scum down there try to chew through the boundary and force a descent, we’ll give them a very big surprise.”

Then Oliver’s tone abruptly shifted.

“But honestly, they’re ridiculous. Britain would be even better suited to countering this thing. Life is what we were built to guard against. And yet the research applications I submitted back then were rejected…”

The moment Oliver entered that familiar mode, the new Department of Mysteries Director persona fully came online, and the muttering began.

Ethan quietly used magic to block his own ears, then wore a polite smile like he was listening with great interest.

…

Back in Britain, after finally explaining everything to Aunt Molly, Aiden set off from the Burrow.

A teenager with dragon horns, delicate features, and mismatched eyes strolled down the street as if he had nowhere to be.

“So,” he mused, “where to next?”

A group of London street kids caught his attention.

They wore newsboy caps and darted through alleys and crowds. One child would create a distraction while the others picked a target clean.

The moment they got the goods, they slipped into a narrow lane and split the loot.

“Stealing isn’t a good habit,” a pleasant teenage voice said.

They jumped as if struck.

Turning around, they saw him.

A refined, elegant dragon-blooded youth, watching them with calm interest.

“Devil!” the leader shrieked.

He whipped a black ball at Aiden. It burst as it neared him, exploding into sand and dust that flew straight for Aiden’s face.

“Stop.”

Magic drove his words into a command. The dust and grit froze in mid-air.

And so did the children who were trying to flee.

Aiden lifted his foot and tapped the ground lightly.

The buildings around them began to collapse and fold away like scenery being dismantled on a stage, revealing what lay behind the set.

The children found themselves brought into a dimly lit meeting room.

A broad round table rose up before them. Ornate chairs slid into place and caught them as they dropped.

Dishes appeared on the tabletop. Hot, fragrant, impossible feasts.

The whole scene felt like a fairy tale.

“Pumpkin juice?” Aiden asked.

The children were stunned by the change, but hunger was the one constant for London orphans.

Even if the food in front of them was poisoned, they would still eat first and worry later.

They devoured the meal with frantic speed, and Aiden waited patiently until they were done.

Before long, they were slumped back in the chairs, clutching their stomachs, unable to eat another bite.

The leader finally gathered his courage.

“Excuse me… what do you want from us?”

“Does this feel like a dream?” Aiden asked instead of answering.

All of them nodded.

“Then let me ask you this,” Aiden said, fingers interlaced beneath his chin, voice lazy and gentle. “If you suddenly had magic and became wizards, would you want it?”

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 475

Chapter 475: Yaxley and Avery

Malfoy Manor.

A group of Death Eaters lounged inside.

They gathered in twos and threes, either discussing Dark magic, drinking and chatting, or using magic to torment the ordinary people they had kidnapped and dragged in to serve them like beasts of burden.

Off to one side, Yaxley and Avery sat together, trading notes on Dark spells.

The last time the two of them had failed a mission, they had been punished by Voldemort when they returned.

But since they were, in truth, half-discarded pieces, deliberately thrown out to draw Sean’s attention, Voldemort had not made things too difficult for them. He had merely hit each of them with one Cruciatus Curse, then searched their memories thoroughly to make sure there were no issues, before letting them off. Old-guard Death Eaters were already few in number. If one could be kept, it was worth keeping.

Since that failed mission, perhaps because they had been punished together, or perhaps for other reasons, Yaxley and Avery had grown oddly close. They were often seen together, discussing magic.

This was one of those times.

They were in the middle of analysing a spell that could draw part of a target’s blood out through an open wound, when both of them suddenly froze. Their pupils tightened slightly. In the next instant, scene after scene of memory surfaced inside their minds, and their expressions shifted.

“Yaxley,” Avery asked quietly, “you remembered?”

Yaxley’s eyes were faintly red. He looked up at Avery, who wore a hint of fanatical excitement, and slowly nodded.

Yes. He remembered.

He remembered that he and Avery had joined Sean’s side, that Sean had branded them with the Ouroboros Pentagram. He remembered that there was no turning back, that from now on he could only work for Sean with all his heart.

“Avery,” Yaxley whispered, “did you receive Master’s order?”

“Of course I did. I never expected he would actually…”

“Shut your mouth,” Yaxley cut in at once, voice low and sharp. “This place is full of Death Eaters, including the two of us. Some things you keep in your head. You do not say them out loud.”

He drew a breath, forcing himself steady.

“Next, we split up. You keep an eye on him in there. I’ll go outside and find a way to bring Master in.”

Avery licked his lips and nodded slowly.

“No problem.”

With that decided, the two separated. Avery headed towards the concealed chamber. He had seen Snape go in earlier, and there had been no news since, which meant Snape was probably still alive. To Voldemort, Snape was one of the most valuable Death Eaters, second only to Barty Crouch Junior and Bellatrix. Even if Voldemort was unhappy with him, he would not kill him immediately. There was still room to manoeuvre.

Yaxley’s side was a little more troublesome.

Ever since the Ministry confirmed Voldemort’s return and branded Lucius Malfoy a Death Eater, Malfoy Manor had sealed itself off from the outside world. Supplies like food and water were replenished through secret runs, but Death Eaters could not come and go freely. Yaxley could not simply walk out whenever he pleased.

Fortunately, after this mission, both Yaxley and Avery would be taken away by Sean. There was no need to worry about staying by Voldemort’s side anymore.

So Yaxley allowed himself to use a few tricks.

“Imperio!”

He lowered his wand and looked at the two Death Eaters guarding the exit, commanding them to let him pass.

He left Malfoy Manor with a group of ordinary people who were being controlled to go out and purchase supplies. He was just about to head for the location Sean had designated through the Ouroboros Pentagram when he heard the voice that filled him with both respect and fear.

“Not bad. You got out quickly.”

Yaxley spun around.

Sean was standing behind him, appearing from nowhere.

Yaxley lowered his head and bowed slightly, voice reverent. “Master. You’re here.”

Sean patted him lightly on the shoulder.

“You don’t need to be that scared. If I branded you with the Ouroboros Pentagram, you’re one of my men now.”

His eyes narrowed, calm and cold.

“I’m not like the one inside Malfoy Manor. I do not have the habit of throwing my own people out as cannon fodder and bait. Competent subordinates are too rare. I am not that extravagant, treating you like disposable pieces.”

Yaxley swallowed hard.

From Sean, he felt the same unsettling sensation he’d felt from Voldemort—the sense of being seen through, as if his thoughts were laid bare. It made him fear Sean from the bottom of his heart.

Just now, Sean’s words had pierced straight through the two worries Yaxley had been hiding. In that moment, Yaxley’s awe of Sean rose to match his awe of Voldemort.

“All right,” Sean said. “Take me in. You don’t need to worry about anything else. Just lead me to Professor Snape. Leave the rest to me.”

Sean’s voice turned crisp and practical.

“And if you see me fight Voldemort, or if you see me leave Malfoy Manor with Professor Snape, notify Avery immediately. Tell him to leave at once and head for the Black Hat Pub in Knockturn Alley. Once he’s inside, have him show them the Ouroboros Pentagram. Someone will arrange things for you both.”

That was enough.

Yaxley finally felt truly at ease. He nodded hard.

“Thank you for your arrangements, Master. Understood.”

“Good. Let’s go in.”

As soon as Sean finished speaking, his figure vanished from sight.

Yaxley did not hesitate. He turned and went straight back into Malfoy Manor. Under his guidance, Sean finally entered the sealed estate.

At the entrance, Sean glanced at the two Death Eaters Yaxley had controlled with the Imperius Curse. With a small flick of his wand, he cast another Imperius Curse that overwrote Yaxley’s control and took possession of them for himself.

Yaxley noticed, of course. But he was already someone else’s subordinate now. He acted as if he had seen nothing.

He led Sean directly into the concealed chamber. Along the way, they ran into plenty of Death Eaters, but none of them were Voldemort. They could not sense Sean’s presence through his LV5MAX Disillusionment Charm, not even slightly.

In fact, unless Voldemort had seen Sean cast the Disillusionment Charm and knew Sean was right beside him, even he would not be able to detect Sean immediately. That was the confidence Sean had, following Yaxley into the concealed chamber.

Inside, Sean immediately saw the Lestrange brothers sitting near the entrance, with Bellatrix beside them.

When the three of them saw Yaxley walk in, the Lestrange brothers gave him a small nod and a faint smile. Bellatrix, however, snorted coldly, clearly contemptuous of a “failure” like Yaxley.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 188

Chapter 188: Hogwarts at Four in the Morning, Mudblood

It was early morning, with dawn only just beginning to lighten the sky.

Harry was hauled out of bed by Oliver Wood, Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain. Forced to drag himself upright, he washed up, pulled on his training kit, and hoisted his Nimbus 2000 before stumbling out.

He had not even made it through the portrait hole when Colin Creevey blocked his path. Harry was already starting to dread the younger boy. Colin had somehow memorised his timetable and asked him six or seven times a day.

Harry had insisted that Quidditch training was boring, but Colin stubbornly insisted on coming to watch anyway. All the way there, he chattered nonstop, peppering Harry with questions about everything and nothing.

In the cool morning breeze, Harry trudged towards the Quidditch pitch with Colin trailing after him like a little shadow. Harry was still half-asleep and felt a yawn creeping up.

“Leonardo! Morning!”

At Colin’s excited shout, Harry blinked hard and focused. Leonardo’s familiar figure was walking towards them from the direction of the pitch, and in his hand he was carrying a broom that looked like…

A Nimbus 2001?

Harry woke up instantly. Since when had Leonardo bought a broom, and the newest Nimbus 2001 at that, faster than the Nimbus 2000 by another step? Was Leonardo joining Ravenclaw’s team this year? Had he already finished training? Surely it was not that early.

A bad feeling settled in Harry’s stomach. Ravenclaw struggled in Quidditch because of numbers and team balance, but Leonardo did not struggle at anything. If they ended up facing him in a match, what then?

“Morning, Colin. Harry.”

Leonardo waved at them and walked straight back towards the castle. He looked faintly pleased with himself, as if he had already checked something off his list. Special training with Malfoy done, he thought, now breakfast.

Leonardo’s pace was brisk. Harry did not have time to ask questions, and with the team waiting, he hurried on as well.

When Harry reached the changing room, everyone was already there. Wood was in full command, analysing tactics and the day’s training plan, claiming he had spent his whole summer “researching” it. Harry was exhausted, but he forced himself to listen, guilt prickling at him. He had missed the final last year, and Gryffindor had suffered a humiliating defeat.

When Wood’s long speech finally ended, they filed out onto the pitch.

Harry spotted Ron and Hermione in the stands, along with Colin, camera raised and ready as if this were a professional match.

“This is breakfast, Leonardo asked us to bring you,” Ron shouted, lifting a lunchbox. It was the same one Leonardo had given him as a Christmas present last year. “Eat it after training, all right?”

Warmth surged through Harry, and he waved to show he had heard.

They had only just taken off when Wood noticed Colin clicking away with his camera. He immediately assumed the kid was a Slytherin spy and started to dive down to stop him, only for George to grab his arm and hold him back.

“Relax,” George said. “Slytherin doesn’t need spies.”

He jerked his chin downward. “They’ve come themselves.”

Wood dropped to the ground in a fury and marched up to a group of Slytherins in green robes. He had landed too fast and staggered, but it did nothing to cool him.

“Flint! We’re training. I booked the pitch. You lot should get out!”

Marcus Flint was even broader than Wood. He stared down at him without blinking, his voice dripping with amusement.

“Did you now? Then let me read you this little note…”

He cleared his throat theatrically.

“Ahem. I, Professor Severus Snape, grant the Slytherin team permission to train on the Quidditch pitch today, in order to develop their new Seeker.”

Wood’s face turned ugly. “New Seeker? Where?”

Flint grinned and swept one arm wide. “Come on, then. Let them have a proper look at our new Seeker, the one who’s made such a massive contribution to the team!”

The Slytherin players stepped aside, revealing Draco Malfoy behind them.

Malfoy looked half-dead with sleep, yawning repeatedly, and it was obvious he had not even heard what Flint had just said.

When Malfoy did not step forward on his own, Flint’s smile vanished. He grabbed Malfoy and yanked him to his side, then slapped him hard on the back several times.

“Draco Malfoy,” Flint announced, “Slytherin’s new Seeker.” He thumped Malfoy again for emphasis. "Thanks to him, we’ve got ourselves a new set of brooms."

The Slytherin players raised their broomsticks. Brand-new Nimbus 2001s, polished to a shine that caught and threw back the morning light.

Gryffindor’s team felt the pressure at once.

Malfoy, aching from Flint’s heavy hand, cursed the brute in his head. His eyes stung with exhaustion, and he instinctively reached into his pocket, fumbling for something.

These past days, Leonardo’s “special training” had started at four in the morning. Leonardo’s reasoning was simple: if you had never seen Hogwarts at four a.m., how were you supposed to become an excellent Seeker?

Thinking of how outstanding Leonardo was, Malfoy had decided the effort must be worth it, and he had not complained.

But now he realised his supply was gone. The Vigor Draught.

It was a potion Leonardo had invented, a coffee-coloured liquid he claimed would sharpen the mind and restore energy. Malfoy had asked why it had such a bizarre name, and Leonardo had answered with a straight face: drink it and you would have the strength of an ox and the speed of a horse, with endurance to match. It was designed specifically for overworked students running on fumes.

Malfoy had stopped questioning it after that. Leonardo had said it would go on sale at the Seventh Workshop today anyway. Malfoy could simply buy a whole case.

He was not about to cling to his friendship with Leonardo and ask for a “mate’s rate”. A pure-blood noble had not fallen so far.

Still, Malfoy was genuinely exhausted. He thought about training afterwards, which would be even more draining, and before he knew it, his eyelids drooped again.

Flint, towering over the Gryffindors and oblivious to Malfoy swaying beside him, sneered, “Tsk. Comets and Cleansweeps. Honestly, maybe they’re decent for sweeping floors, but for Quidditch? Don’t make me laugh.”  

He caressed his Nimbus 2001 like it was a priceless treasure. “For Quidditch, you want a proper broom. Not a glorified dustpan.”

The shouting match escalated. Ron and Hermione had moved down from the stands and came over as well, and once they heard what was happening, Hermione looked past Flint and noticed Malfoy nodding off on his feet.

She lifted her chin and met Flint’s glare without flinching.

“If broomsticks alone decided the result, then no one would need matches at all,” she said, voice sharp and clear. “You could just compare whose broom is more expensive and faster. I don’t think Gryffindor needs that sort of thing to find courage.”

Gryffindor erupted with cheers. The twins whistled, then spoke together in perfect unison.

“Exactly. Hope those shiny new brooms can comfort your tiny little hearts.”

Slytherin’s expression darkened. Flint’s face twisted, and he leaned over Hermione, looming.

“Sharp tongue for a little girl,” he snarled. “I’d have thought those great big teeth would get in your way. Hmph. Filthy Mudblood.”

Silence.

The moment the word left his mouth, the entire pitch fell dead quiet.

Even Malfoy, who had been drifting, snapped a bit more awake. He had the uneasy feeling he had missed something, and also the sense he had narrowly avoided being part of it.

Mudblood? Who said Mudblood?

Bang.

A dull thud of impact, followed by a roar that mixed pain and rage.

“Ah! My broom!”

Malfoy’s eyes opened fully. Ron was standing there with that alchemical device, the one that looked like a hairdryer, the one he called an Air Gun, held up and smoking faintly with residual magic.

Malfoy’s gaze snapped to Flint. Flint had been blown several metres back, and now he was kneeling on the ground, clutching a Nimbus 2001 snapped into multiple pieces.

Malfoy’s first thought was unexpectedly practical. That thing seems useful. Should he get one too?

...

The Great Hall.

Lunch.

Malfoy and Leonardo sat tucked away near the end of the long table.

“So Flint just went flying,” Malfoy said, recounting it with growing excitement. “And honestly, Weasley’s Air Gun is pretty interesting. Of course, it’s only because you taught him well that he could make something like that. Muggles have something similar, don’t they? What do they call it, a metal wand?”

Leonardo picked up a piece of crispy roast duck, thinking, ‘Not a metal wand, you mean a gun.’

From Malfoy’s retelling, Leonardo understood the general chain of events on the pitch.

“So after that,” Leonardo asked, amused, “it turned into a free-for-all?”

“Free-for-all?” Malfoy blinked, then understood. “Oh. You mean a fistfight. Yes, some people used fists and feet, some used wands.”

He scooped up a bite of mapo tofu and continued, sounding equal parts disgusted and impressed.

“It was chaos. Someone even started swinging a broom like a club. Nearly broke another Nimbus 2001. Absolutely…”

Leonardo thought the ripple effects were bigger than expected. If you traced it back, his reinforcement of the flying car meant Ron’s wand had not snapped, which meant there was no spell backlash. So there was no comic slug-vomiting to interrupt the confrontation, and the two sides truly came to blows.

And with Leonardo’s guidance, Ron had built an Air Gun and gotten increasingly handy with it. In a wizard brawl, Ron’s first instinct had not been to draw his wand, but to draw his weapon.

Well, an alchemical tool was still magic. At least the world had not completely gone off the rails.

"As for Malfoy, Leonardo’s four a.m. flying drills had left him too exhausted to utter the slur himself—the one he’d used in the original timeline. But someone else still did: Flint."

Leonardo set his chopsticks down and looked at Malfoy with a grin.

“Draco,” he asked, “when everyone started fighting, what did you do? Who did you help?”

Malfoy actually laughed, a smug sparkle returning to him.

“I’m in Slytherin. I can’t just stand there and do nothing. And I can’t help Potter, can I, not just because we’ve got tutoring together. How am I supposed to survive on the team, in my house, if I do that?”

He pointed to himself, then to Leonardo.

“But I also couldn’t exactly start hexing Gryffindor’s lot, could I? Not with what you and I have.” Malfoy lifted his chin. “You’re friends with Potter and them too. If I actually went after them, it would put you in a difficult position, wouldn’t it? A Malfoy doesn’t make his friends uncomfortable.”

His pride only grew as he explained his solution.

“So I remembered what we practised in tutoring, fighting one against several. I started signalling Potter and Granger. Then with Weasley as well, the three of them pulled their wands, and we just started trading spells with each other.”

He spoke faster, enjoying himself.

“While we were duelling, we kept moving away from the older lot. They hit hard and they don’t care where it lands. That way, I didn’t have a problem with either side. Clever, right?”

Leonardo paused, genuinely impressed.

This boy really was something.

The Malfoy bloodline had substance, and with instincts like that, it was no wonder the family had lasted.

Leonardo gave him a quick thumbs‑up. “That’s the spirit.”

That only made Malfoy more enthusiastic.

“I’m guessing Weasley explained what that word meant to Granger while they were fighting,” he said. “She got a gap and started firing spells into the crowd. I think she hit Flint.”

Leonardo nodded. She took revenge immediately. Good.

“That word is disgusting,” Leonardo said.

Mudblood* was a slur aimed at witches and wizards from Muggle families, vicious and among the most disgusting words a wizard could utter.

At Leonardo’s tone, Malfoy seemed to remember something and gave an awkward, embarrassed laugh.

“It’s Flint,” he muttered. “Bloody slug’s got a sewer for a mouth.”

Truthfully, Malfoy already disliked Flint. He thought Flint was crude and stupid, the sort who relied on brute force and never bothered with sense or foresight.

“Anyway, we all got told off by our Heads of House,” Malfoy continued, lowering his voice. “I don’t know exactly what happened with Gryffindor, but Head of House Snape gave Flint detention. Proper detention. Serious.”

Malfoy’s voice dropped further.

“And… you should’ve seen the Head of House’s face. He was terrifying. We’ve never seen him that angry.”

No wonder he was furious.

Leonardo suspected Snape hated that word more than almost anything, and hated the version of himself who had once said it to Lily most of all.

Malfoy sighed, irritation creeping in.

“I’ve only just joined the team. I haven’t even had proper training yet, and the captain’s already gone.”

“You don’t have a vice-captain?” Leonardo asked.

“No,” Malfoy said bitterly. “Flint’s an arrogant brute. He never lets anyone touch his authority.”

Leonardo offered a casual suggestion.

Leonardo leaned back a little. “Then take charge of practice for now. You know the game better than most of them anyway.”

Malfoy had loved Quidditch since childhood, and his parents had the means to indulge it fully. Leonardo had always suspected that, with Malfoy’s flying and Quidditch skill, he could have made the team on merit eventually. He had simply been impatient, or obsessed with competing with Harry, and so had used “sponsorship” to force his way into the Seeker position.

Malfoy stared at him and pointed at his own nose.

“Me?”

Leonardo laughed softly.

“You’ve got knowledge, you’ve got technique, you donated those brooms, and they’ll give you face for that alone. It’s only routine practice. If you’re all free anyway, you might as well.” He paused, then added lightly. “Besides, if the old lot don’t step aside, how do the young ever rise?”

Something in Malfoy’s eyes shifted. Ambition was practically a Slytherin birthmark, a hunger for power and glory.

This sounded like an opportunity. Not to become captain, obviously, Flint was in detention, not dead. But leading Slytherin training temporarily?

That was something Potter could never do.

Malfoy made up his mind on the spot. If he pulled this off, he would absolutely go back to the pitch during Gryffindor training and show off properly.

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 444

Chapter 444: Four Gather Again, Movements on All Sides, Going Home

“Tch. You show up late, and the first thing you do is try to look cool,” Ethan muttered, turning his head away.

“Ever consider the possibility that I’m just naturally better-looking than you?” Edmond wore a perfectly tailored suit, topped with a thick overcoat.

“Stop showing off. If you were that handsome, you wouldn’t have been exiled to Egypt,” a boy in white-and-gold robes said, stepping out of the rift.

“Oliver.”

Only then did the two who held the Deep Realm King’s core remember the man their minds had been made to ignore. They went up and pulled him into a hug.

“What a touching reunion,” another clear teenage voice called from the crack behind Oliver. “Mind if I join in?”

“Finally, you’re here.”
“I thought you weren’t coming.”

Edmond and Ethan released Oliver and hooked their arms around Aiden’s shoulders from either side. Ethan reached up and thoroughly messed up Aiden’s hair.

“Aiden…?” Harry rubbed his eyes.

“Aren’t you trapped in Avalon?” Hermione asked what all three of them had been dying to ask.

“Two people are covering my work for now,” Aiden said, scratching his cheek.

Somewhere inside Avalon’s formation, a blonde girl and a leopard-spotted cat clicked their tongues at the same time.

“So what’s the plan?” Ethan rolled his wrist, the other hand pressing his bicep like he was ready to start punching walls. “I’ve been itching for this.”

“You’ll need to keep it quiet that I’ve broken free,” Aiden said, curling his lips into a mischievous smile. “He doesn’t know yet. I want to give Him a surprise.”

“As for what’s next, Harry, you lot keep destroying Horcruxes…”

He did not finish before Harry cut in urgently.

“There’s only his snake left by his side, and there’s one more Horcrux I have no idea where it’s hidden.”

“It’s fine,” Aiden said, giving Harry a look that felt far too knowing. “You will know.”

"Do you know where He’s going to descend?" Oliver asked suddenly.

"More or less," Aiden replied. "It should be above the Pacific. Once the war starts, the people under female Tom will probably all become sacrifices."

He pulled out three of the newest model terminals he had made in Avalon and handed them over.

"Personal terminals. You can use these to communicate and look up information."

Oliver and the others already had theirs, so Aiden did not give them any. Harry, Ron, and Hermione each took a sphere. The instant it touched their hands, it melted and spread away, and a strange interface appeared in their vision.

They tapped at it a few times and quickly got the hang of it.

“This is brilliant,” Ron said, playing with it like a child who had been handed a new toy.

Aiden raised his eyebrows and sent a Howler through it.

“Aaagh!” Ron yelped, clutching his ear. “Aiden, don’t!”

Seeing Ron rubbing his ears and the dragon snickering nearby, everyone understood immediately.

“All right, back to the plan,” Aiden said. “Oliver and Ethan, you two hide yourselves. Edmond leads the army and hits Britain head-on. No one from the continent is coming to support her anymore.”

He tapped the terminal a few times. Far away in Europe, a mole remotely cut off all of female Tom’s communication networks.

“Oh, right. This is for you,” Ethan said, digging into his pocket and handing them a fang.

“Sirius insisted on coming, so I knocked him out and tied him up,” Ethan said, winking his left eye at Harry. “This level of fight isn’t something he can take part in.”

Harry stared for a second, then sighed. “Thank you.”

“Ha. Of course,” Ethan replied, grinning smugly. “I’m your uncle now, aren’t I?”

“Get lost,” Harry groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Haha.”

…

With the plan set, they split up to act.

Harry’s trio decided to sneak into Hogwarts and see if they could find any clue about the final Horcrux. Ethan and Oliver used the cover of night to sail out from Britain’s west coast.

As for a certain dragon, he took one step and crossed between the Sea of Consciousness and reality in an instant, then walked into the Hog’s Head.

“Evening, Professor. I’m back,” Aiden said, greeting Dumbledore.

“Hm. Took you long enough,” Dumbledore said, pouring him a little mead.

“Are all arrangements in place?” An elderly hand reached out from behind and snatched the mead right out from in front of Aiden.

The person behind him was the Director. Without Protocol support, he was no longer young, reduced to a withered old man.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name, dear Weasley Director?” Aiden asked, ignoring the question and tossing him one of his own. “We’re family, after all.”

“Hah. Petty kid,” the Director sighed. “I never expected your mother to be that absolute, back then.”

“Yeah, I know it’s not your fault,” Aiden said, his voice calm but edged with suppressed fury. “Don’t worry. I’ll give that guy a proper welcome.”

He squeezed. The metal cup in his hand crumpled into a small ball, the force of his grip betraying the anger he barely kept in check.

“Oi, that cup’s expensive,” Aberforth barked at once. “Pay up!”

“I will. Look at you, stingy as ever,” Aiden said, dropping five Galleons on the table.

“And then?” A vigorous old man stepped out of the shadows. His unusual pupils gave him away at once. “Where are you going next?”

It was Gellert Grindelwald.

“To see my aunt,” Aiden said, swinging his legs, relaxed as if nothing in the world mattered. “I’ve let her worry long enough. Then I’m heading for the Atlantic. The final battlefield should be there.”

“War’s about to erupt, and you don’t feel any urgency at all?” Grindelwald clenched his fist, then forced it to loosen.

“I’m waiting,” Aiden said, winking his left eye. “Waiting for the perfect moment.”

Dense grey fog grew up from the floor, taking the shape of a tree.

Grindelwald’s eyes widened. “Even that? The Easterners gave you that too?”

“Of course,” Aiden said. “Everyone’s been fighting the Deep Realm for years. They’re tired. If there’s a chance to finish it once and for all, why wouldn’t they invest?”

Aiden drew the tree-shaped fog back into himself. He looked at Grindelwald lazily.

“Who knows how long it’ll be until the next chance. Money only matters when you spend it. Otherwise, it’s just numbers. And Easterners have never lacked money. The current Celestial Master is generous enough that I almost wanted to kneel and swear loyalty on the spot.”

“Tch. Greedy, lazy brat,” Grindelwald said, waving him away. “Go. Go be with your family.”

“Heh,” Aiden laughed.

His body dissolved into grey fog and disappeared.

…

The sun rose a little higher.

At the Burrow, another day of quiet, watched-over peace began.

Arthur, who had worked into the night, hurried back from the Ministry of Magic. Molly had breakfast waiting for him.

The Weasley children were all gone. George and Fred had fully moved into the shop, living there now. When she had a spare moment, Molly would stand in the garden and look out, hoping her missing nephew would appear.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Molly,” Aiden said softly, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “I’m late.”

“Aiden? Is that you?” Molly could hardly believe her ears. For a moment, she froze, heart pounding, then spun around and pulled him into a fierce hug. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as years of worry and longing poured out in that single embrace.

Then her expression shifted—her face darkened with a mix of relief, anger, and unspoken reproach. She grabbed him, flipping him over as if she was about to give him the spanking of his life.

“Aunt Molly, no!” Aiden yelped, half-laughing, half-pleading. As a Sequence 1 Author, how could he possibly get his backside smacked by Aunt Molly?

Aiden instantly turned into a wisp of grey fog and slipped away, but the warmth and the weight of that reunion lingered in the air.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 474

Chapter 474: Exams Over and a Nameless Unease

In the Transfiguration practical, the Ministry examiner watched the animals racing across the floor and fluttering through the room, then sighed in open admiration. “Incredibly delicate Transfiguration, unquestionably fourth-stage. Fifth year, and already at this level. Astonishing.”

Hearing the praise, Professor McGonagall, standing to one side of the classroom, could not help smiling, pride written all over her face. Fourth-stage Transfiguration in the fifth year, even Dumbledore had been no better back then.

Magical items were, of course, forbidden during exams. So the Transfiguration Sean displayed at this moment was his true ability. Though he had only just stepped into it, it was genuine fourth-stage Transfiguration.

Ever since obtaining Raven’s Claw, Sean’s Transfiguration had improved and reached the fourth stage. At first, he had been fumbling his way through it, half-understanding and half-guessing. But as time passed, with repeated use, he gradually grasped the core of fourth-stage Transfiguration and finally crossed the threshold that had blocked him for so long.

Only then did Sean truly understand what Raven’s Claw actually did. It let a wizard glimpse the principles of higher-level Transfiguration early, then internalise them through practice, the way self-study could never compare to having a master guide your hand.

After finishing Transfiguration, Sean headed to the final practical of Potions.

When he entered the classroom, quite a few seventh years were already brewing, including a familiar face. Buck Icke from Ravenclaw, who had once attended the Potions Club with Sean, was in his seventh year this time.

Buck clearly already knew Sean was sitting O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s back to back, so he was not surprised to see him here. When their eyes met, Buck gave Sean a small nod, then lowered his head and returned to his cauldron.

Anyone who made it into Snape’s Potions Club was, naturally, one of Hogwarts’ top talents. It was just that in front of Sean, all their “genius” seemed to fade into nothing.

As for Sean’s Potions practical, the Ministry examiner could only smile wryly. By rights, as the official overseeing the Potions exam, his own skill was excellent, and he even had the authority to recommend and nominate papers to The Golden Cauldron. He held a certain standing in Britain’s Potions academic world, but no matter how high his status, in front of Sean, he could only smile in resignation.

Sean brewed Felix Felicis cleanly and efficiently. The examiner sniffed it, ran a quick test, and could not help praising, “Top-quality Felix Felicis. If a vial like this were in the Ministry, departments would fight each other for it.”

Seeing how reluctant the examiner looked to let it go, Sean smiled. “If you don’t mind, you can have this vial.”

The examiner’s eyes lit up, and he nodded at once. “Truly? Then I won’t stand on ceremony!”

Sean watched him pocket the potion with impressive speed, then nodded politely and turned to leave the classroom. His exams were, at last, completely over.

“Hah…” Sean exhaled, stretched his arms, and muttered to himself, “I’m exhausted. Thank Merlin, I won’t have to come back to Hogwarts after this. Once Voldemort is dealt with, I can finally live the life I actually want.”

With that, Sean started to head for Snape. He had mailed out his paper, yet nearly two weeks had passed, and The Golden Cauldron editorial office still had not given him a definite response, so he wanted to ask Snape what was going on.

Just as he was about to leave, Buck Icke, who had also just finished his exam and come out of the classroom, called out to him.

“Sean, are you going to find Professor Snape?”

Sean turned back, nodded, and smiled. “Yes. Exams are done, so I’m going to talk to him about my paper.”

“Then you might want to wait a bit,” Buck said. “Before my exam, I happened to see Professor Snape leaving Hogwarts. I don’t know what he went to do, but if it’s something that requires him to leave the castle, he probably won’t be back quickly. It’s been less than three hours since I saw him go, so there shouldn’t be anyone in the Potions office right now.”

“Professor Snape left Hogwarts?” Sean repeated. “Why?”

Buck froze, about to say he didn’t know, but then he noticed Sean’s slight frown and the way his gaze went distant. Only then did Buck realise that the question did not seem meant for him.

After waiting a moment and seeing Sean still lost in thought, Buck shrugged, told Sean he was heading off, and left the dungeon.

Sean came back to himself and walked quickly to Snape’s office door. From the moment he heard Snape had left Hogwarts, a bad feeling had been crawling up his spine, so he pressed his hand to the office door at once. A halo flared in his pupils, and white mist swam across his eyes.

Scene after scene involving Snape unfolded in Sean’s vision. Because he was using the office door as a medium, the first image concerned the door itself, and it was something Sean had lived through before, a moment from the past. He saw himself sprinting out of the office, slipping away before Snape could unleash his usual poisonous sarcasm.

Then, after Sean left, Snape pressed a hand over the Dark Mark on his right arm, his expression tight with pain.

The images flickered rapidly, settling on Snape keeping a close watch over Sean’s exams. Once Snape confirmed Sean only had Potions left, he returned to his office, gathered a few things, and left Hogwarts.

After that came Snape travelling to the hidden Malfoy Manor and into a concealed chamber to meet Voldemort, but the vision turned unclear there, blurring until it vanished completely. Every time Sean used his Spirit Vision to observe Voldemort, some inexplicable interference always appeared.

Staring at the future that dissolved into nothing, the unease in Sean’s chest only grew heavier. After a brief moment of thought, he made his decision.