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HP/LOTM: Visionary - 430

Chapter 430: Dragonkin! Dragonkin! The Stealth Trio

At the heart of the battlefield, the fight only grew fiercer, and the two dragonkin fought harder with every passing second.

As they moved, the scales on their bodies scraped together with a grating, metallic screech. Worse than the sound was the heat that rolled off them in waves. Their blood was boiling, in the most literal sense.

Magic and dragon blood burned together, turning them into tireless furnaces. In the depths of February, the snow under their feet melted to slush and then to steam, carving a clear, scorched ring around them.

A wordless warning to the Death Eaters: step over this line and die.

At last, one of the Death Eaters could not bear the mounting pressure from Fabian and Gideon. He snapped first, hurling a Knockback Jinx at them, hoping to blast them off their feet.

The spell never even reached them. The searing magic around their bodies burned it away to nothing.

Fabian raised his hand. With nothing but unleashed magic, fire roared out and swallowed the Death Eater whole.

Fear spiked through the ranks.

"Damned Prewetts!"

More Death Eaters charged anyway, screaming, driven by the certainty that whatever waited for them here was still better than the Dark Lord’s displeasure.

Fabian moved first. He bent his body slightly; muscle bunched in his legs, then released with a force beyond human. He vanished from where he stood and reappeared in the middle of the Death Eaters’ formation, heart hammering, boiling blood driving magic and strength higher.

"Confringo!"

The Blasting Curse detonated in their midst. The courtyard shattered, shockwaves hurling shards of stone and clouds of dust into the air.

"Obscuro Mists," Gideon said.

He cast at the perfect moment. Fog surged out and mingled with the dust, forming a thicker, clinging haze that blocked every line of sight.

The two dragonkin, backed by raw physical force and unreasonable reserves of magic, became demons in the smoke, cutting Death Eaters down one after another.

Screams rose and fell on all sides.

Each cry meant one more Death Eater sent to meet Merlin. The unseen slaughter and the roiling smoke magnified their terror. None of them dared push forward.

"Useless," Voldemort hissed from the balcony.

His wand hand shook with rage. He flicked it, and a weather charm powerful enough to blanket London compressed down to the size of the Riddle estate.

Under a surge of black magic, a gale screamed into being, twisting into a whirling column. The air pummelled at every Death Eater’s mind, and at the same time, shredded the fog Fabian and Gideon had raised.

Unfortunately for him, that was exactly what the dragonkin had been waiting for.

As the tornado rose, they both lifted their wands and cast.

“Incendio Maxima!”

Twin pillars of fire shot into the spinning column. The harmless wind turned into a flaming dragon, and the lingering dust in the air flashed into a chain of secondary explosions.

Death Eaters still trapped in the courtyard were either burned alive in the firestorm or blown off their feet and out of the fight.

The two dragonkin stood in the centre of the ruin, crowned in flame.

“Damn the Prewetts,” Voldemort thought, teeth gritted.

Power like this. Tactics like this. Why, why were they not his?

He lifted his wand to join the battle himself.

Three spells shot at his back.

"Stupefy. Expelliarmus. Diffindo."

Red, scarlet and white lights streaked toward him. Behind his shoulders, a mass of black slime surged up and devoured them all.

"Rats, is it? What a surprise," Tom said.

His head twisted backward at an impossible angle. His body bent like a snake.

"Run!" Remus shouted.

He grabbed Sirius and Peter and yanked them toward the shadows.

Green light gathered at Voldemort’s wand tip. An instant later, two of the spells that had been blocked still exploded, blasting apart the balcony railing behind him.

By then, the two dragonkin had finished the last of the Death Eaters. They hovered in the air with their wings spread, drifting into position behind Tom.

"Hah. Five against one. Odds look good to me," Sirius said.

He wrenched free of Remus’s grip, ready to put on a show for Tom Riddle.

He did not get the chance.

Voldemort let his magic explode in a single pulse and flung them all backwards.

"Dragonkin. I will give you one more chance. Join me," Tom said, stretching a hand toward Gideon and Fabian.

He could not help it. He wanted them. Born weapons of war, backed by an old and fabulously wealthy alchemical house.

“You hold my wife hostage and trample on our pride, and you dare ask us to kneel? Do you think we’re the sort of men who’ll crawl at your feet?” Gideon roared.

Heat burst from him, magic so intense that for a brief moment he stood toe to toe with Voldemort.

"What a waste," Voldemort thought.

He could feel the will in that magic. The moment he had seized Eleanor, he had lost any chance of peace with the Prewetts.

"Avada Kedavra."

Green light erupted from his wand and arced high into the sky, bursting like a firework before trailing down in a rain of killing stars.

Fabian and Gideon moved as one. Both cast Transfiguration, shaping a vast umbrella of force over the Marauders’ heads.

Tom turned into black mist and rushed them.

The three under the Cloak fired every curse they could think of at the oncoming shadow.

The Killing Curse meteors smashed into the ground, throwing up a landscape of craters. Tom’s body vanished into the chaos.

No one noticed the small rat that bolted across the pitted earth, heading straight for Eleanor, where she still hung in the air.

He scurried up her arm and began gnawing at the vines that bound her.

A hand darted from the waiting dark.

"Expelliarmus. Stupefy."

Two spells in quick succession dropped Peter where he clung.

From under the hood, Rookwood slowly pulled the cowl back up over his face.

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 429

Chapter 429: Hostage, Prewetts and Marauders March to War

At Riddle Manor, Rookwood threw back his head and laughed when he saw Eleanor lying unconscious on the sofa.

"Success," he said, not bothering to hide his hunger.

Tom sat in the main seat. Jealousy burned in his chest, but the blood oath bound his hand. He could not strike at Rookwood.

Rookwood strode forward, reaching a greedy hand for Eleanor’s earrings.

A crackling surge of power flared. Lightning blasted him off his feet. Eleanor might be unconscious, but the Protocol still guarded the one it had acknowledged.

"Damn it," Rookwood snarled, dragging himself up and whipping out his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green lightning lanced toward Eleanor, carrying a soul-deep chill.

The gems in her earrings burst into silver light and blocked the curse, turning death and cold aside.

"Impossible," Rookwood hissed, pouring more power into the spell.

With a sharp crack, a fine fracture appeared on the surface of the stone. Both men’s pupils shrank.

"Enough," Tom said, stepping between them.

He could not curse Rookwood. Rookwood could not curse him either.

With Tom in the way, Rookwood dared not cast again. At some point, chains of the blood oath had coiled tight around his throat.

"It seems this little treasure has not chosen you, my dear friend," Tom said with a faint smile, manners impeccable.

He turned with cool confidence and reached for Eleanor himself, stretching his hand toward the ancient masterpiece forged by the first wizards.

Another explosion of power answered him. The shock drove straight through Tom’s hand, leaving a lump of blackened charcoal where flesh had been.

More cracks spread over the gem.

"So it will only accept one host at a time," Tom said, thick-skinned enough to make the guess.

He simply refused to believe anything in this world could truly reject him.

"Which means we have to make this woman hand it over willingly," Rookwood said, frowning as well.

"That is simple. Family makes the best weakness. Used properly, it yields the finest returns," Tom said.

He lifted his hand. Magic flooded the air. A shell of transparent crystal blossomed around Eleanor, sealing her in.

"You mean Gideon Prewett and Fabian Prewett," Rookwood said, hope flaring again in his eyes.

"Of course."

Tom felt the odds tilt in his favour. He sent his followers to deliver a message to the Prewett family.

……

In Byberil village, Gideon and Fabian had just received the bad news from the Department of Mysteries.

"Brother, Eleanor has been taken," Fabian said, bursting into the study.

Gideon was already strapping on alchemical gear.

"You knew, and you were still going alone?" Fabian’s voice shook with anger.

"Fabian, if I die, you are the next head of the Prewetts. Raise my child with Eleanor well," Gideon said.

He tightened the laces of his boots and slid several small knives, shining with enchantment, into the sheath strapped to his leg.

"Not a chance. I am coming with you," Fabian said, meeting his brother’s gaze head-on.

"Idiot."

Gideon grabbed him by the front of his robes and hauled him up. Dragon-like slit pupils burned in both their eyes.

"The Prewetts need someone left to bear the weight. Do you want the family wiped out?"

"Do you want a Prewett who ran from a fight?" Fabian shot back, louder.

The tension between them only mounted until a timid voice at the door cut through it.

"Master, Master Black and his friends are here to visit," Sibby said, peeking round the doorframe.

Sirius, as heedless as ever, barrelled into the room, Remus and Peter right behind him. “I heard Eleanor’s been taken—what happened?"

"Voldemort attacked the Department of Mysteries. Eleanor went to reinforce them. A traitor among the Unspeakables ambushed her and took her away," Gideon said heavily, dropping into the chair behind his desk.

"So you are just going to walk into it alone?" Remus asked, taking in their gear.

"We are going too," Sirius said at once, springing to his feet.

"No. This is a Prewett fa—" Fabian began.

"This is Voldemort striking at the Order. The more wands we bring, the better," Sirius cut across him, not seeing the fear in Peter’s eyes.

"We are grateful, but we already—" Gideon tried to refuse as well.

"Stop being stubborn. We go together. We bring Eleanor back," Sirius said, voice ringing.

His resolve poured into his magic and swept through the room, catching the others.

"…All right. Thank you. Truly," Gideon said at last.

He could not trample on the sincerity of his friends.

They armed themselves and set out for war.

To gain the element of surprise, Remus had made a point of borrowing James’s Invisibility Cloak before they left. James, bound indoors by the Fidelius Charm, had been in a foul mood about it, but he still handed over the Cloak without a second thought.

At Riddle Manor, Gideon and Fabian walked in through the front gates. The other three slipped in elsewhere under the Cloak.

The two Prewetts were marched by Death Eaters into the central courtyard. Tom stood on the first-floor balcony, glass of red wine in his hand. Beside him, Eleanor hung suspended in her shell of transparent crystal.

"Ah, the Prewetts. Such a fine family. Why ever did you choose to stand against me?" Tom said, every inch the man in control.

He flicked his hand. The crystal shell melted away, letting Eleanor slump forward.

"Let us have a good look at this moving little scene," he said.

He hooked an arm around Eleanor and pressed his wand to her throat, signalling his followers to close in on the two Prewetts.

Gideon and Fabian stood back to back, wands raised together against the oncoming Death Eaters, just as they had once fought their way out of the Prewett training camps as boys.

"Use it. Let them see," Fabian said first.

"Fine," Gideon answered.

They each drew a vial of silver potion and drained it.

Heat roared through their blood.

Horns pushed through their foreheads. Scales spread across the chest, arms and cheeks.

The growth was rough, imperfect, forced out by the catalyst potion. But years of battle had already brought their dragon blood close to the surface. With the brew’s help, they completed the change into dragonkin.

"Dragonkin," Voldemort breathed.

A hunger he could not hide flared in his eyes. A legend that had run through Europe for a thousand years now stood before him in the flesh.

The Death Eaters attacked as one. Green lightning speared in from every angle, ready to drown the brothers in a sea of death.

Gideon lifted his wand high. His magic surged, turning into water that boiled up from the ground and rose in a towering wall, catching and absorbing every Killing Curse.

Fabian moved like a conductor, wand cutting through the air. Magic rippled and reshaped the water wall. Blades of water spun away from it, scything down any Death Eater too slow to dodge.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 348

Chapter 348: Hermione in Trouble

"Already getting ready for tomorrow’s lesson?" Ron asked, wandering over.

"Tomorrow’s lesson?" Dudley looked up at him, puzzled.

Ron pointed at the Tarot card in Dudley’s hand. "First period tomorrow is Divination."

Dudley blinked, then chuckled and shook his head. "I do not put much stock in divination. Even if it works, it would not do me any good."

"Can’t argue with that. Charlie told me Divination is the most useless class there is," Ron said, nodding earnestly.

Dudley did not bother explaining. His "useless" and Ron’s "useless" were not quite the same thing.

While they were talking, Harry, Hermione, Neville and Ginny came over.

"Dudley, the new term’s started. When are we having the first meeting?" Neville asked, barely hiding his excitement.

"Yeah, we were really looking forward to it over the holidays," Ginny said.

She had already brought it up back at the Leaky Cauldron. It was clear they all had high hopes for what the Kingdom of Order would do next.

"This weekend," Dudley said.

"Dudley, can you teach us how to deal with Dementors then?" Neville asked, cheeks flushing. "The way you smashed two of them off the train with your fists was incredible."

"In truth, that is not the proper way of dealing with Dementors," Dudley said with a smile.

The real spell was the Patronus Charm. He knew that much, even if he had not practised it himself yet. With the Sun Ring on his finger, he had never felt the need. The ring’s radiance bit deep into Dementors, enough to kill them if he pushed it. Why bother with a charm when his Beyonder artefact did the job better?

But once he learned the Dementors would be stationed around the school, he had understood he would have to master the Patronus after all.

"This weekend," he said, "I will teach you how to really fight Dementors."

"Brilliant."

Neville and Ginny, satisfied, headed off.

"A way to deal with Dementors? Then why did you not use it before?" Harry asked. "On the train, I mean."

If Dudley already knew how to counter them, why had he relied on something as bizarre as punching them?

"Because I have not learnt the spell yet," Dudley said calmly. "So, for now, I am doing what I can."

"Er..." The three of them glanced at each other, the corners of their mouths twitching.

"So you mean you will have it down in the next couple of days?" Harry said.

"Is there a problem with that?" Dudley asked.

"No," Harry said quickly. "Just... marvelling at what it is like being a genius, that is all."

Ron chimed in his agreement.

Hermione pressed her lips together. She seemed to have given up trying to compete with Dudley. She had not managed to beat him even once.

Night deepened. The Gryffindor common room slowly grew quiet.

Dudley put away the Emperor card and headed up to bed.

Lately he had taken to keeping the Tarot card in his pocket, pulling it out whenever his hands were idle. It had become a habit.

Every time he looked at the robed Emperor on the card, Roselle’s smiling face left him with a strange, crawling sense of unease.

The next morning.

After breakfast, Dudley and the others set off for the North Tower, where they had Divination. It was their first time going up there.

"We are not going to be late to our very first lesson, are we?" Harry said.

They seemed to have underestimated how far away the tower actually was. Time felt tight.

"We will be fine. I am here," Dudley said, laughing. He cut down a side passage, leading them through a shortcut straight towards the North Tower.

"You really do know every passage in Hogwarts now," Ron said.

"I am the Judge here, after all," Dudley said lightly.

Soon they reached the platform below the trapdoor to the tower top. Most of the class was already there, but no one had yet found a staircase up to the Divination classroom.

"Where’s Hermione? Why is she not here?" Ron said, craning his neck.

They had not seen her all morning. He had assumed she had gone on ahead, but standing here now, he could see clearly she was nowhere in sight.

"I remember her timetable had another class listed first period. She has probably dropped Divination and gone to that instead," Harry said.

"I told her this would happen. She swore she could manage. I want to see how she plans to sit two classes at once," Ron said.

"Do not be ridiculous, Ron. How could I possibly be in two classes at once?"

Hermione’s voice came from off to one side.

The three boys turned and stared. At some point, Hermione had appeared right beside them.

"When did you get here?" Ron yelped.

He had checked. He was sure she had not been there a moment ago.

"I have been here the whole time. You just did not notice," Hermione said.

Clack.

At that moment, a hatch in the ceiling swung down, forming a narrow stairway to the room above.

Students began climbing up into the Divination classroom.

"Less talking, Ron. Move it," Hermione said, hustling towards the ladder.

"Right..."

Ron was still confused, but decided he must have just missed her earlier.

Harry was puzzled as well, but let it go.

Only Dudley’s eyes stayed fixed on Hermione.

She, in turn, seemed to be doing everything she could to avoid his gaze, never once looking in his direction.

"Hermione."

They had dropped behind the others. Dudley called after her.

"We are going to be late, Dudley. Come on," Hermione said quickly, not looking back. She hurried up the stairs, so fast that her foot slipped and she almost tumbled.

Dudley reached out and caught her.

"Hermione. What is going on?" he asked.

He was certain she had not been standing next to him before. Others might misjudge distance or get distracted; he would not. She had appeared out of nowhere.

The way she had done it made even him uneasy.

If other people could get that close to him without a sound, they could approach at any time, slip a knife between his ribs, or worse.

"Dudley, please do not ask," Hermione said at last, lifting her head.

Her eyes were full of pleading.

She could not tell him.

Dudley frowned and slowly let go of her hand.

Hermione scrambled up the ladder and vanished into the classroom.

"What kind of magic was that?" Dudley thought, eyes narrowing.

Something was definitely wrong with Hermione.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 457

Chapter 457: The Lestranges Visit Gringotts

“Young master Sean, these are Bella and Rodolphus’s hairs.”

Sean looked at the two strands Kreacher had brought him. One was long and slightly curled, the other shorter and coarser. Clearly, they belonged to Bellatrix and Rodolphus respectively.

It had been half a month since the Order of the Phoenix abandoned Number 12 Grimmauld Place. In that time, Kreacher had poured out his heartfelt hatred for Sirius often enough to convince Bellatrix and Rodolphus. He had smoothly become their house‑elf, and with them had been brought into the hidden chamber beneath Malfoy Manor, to serve Voldemort himself. Just like that, he had slipped straight into the Dark Lord’s inner circle.

“You were not spotted when you took their hair, were you?” Sean asked.

Bowing slightly, Kreacher shook his head. “Young master Sean need not worry. Kreacher was very careful. These two hairs drew no attention at all. Young master Sean can be at ease.”

“Good. Thank you,” Sean said. “With these two, I can track down another object like that locket. Once it is destroyed, we will be one step closer to killing Voldemort.”

At that, Kreacher’s face lit with fierce excitement. His whole body trembled as he nodded hard.

“In that case, old Kreacher has finally done some tiny, insignificant thing for young master Regulus,” he said. “If young master Regulus knew of this, he would surely be pleased with Kreacher.”

“You are right,” Sean replied. “If Regulus knew, he would be comforted by what you have done. That much I am certain of.”

Kreacher’s sole reason for living now was to finish what Regulus had started. Hunting down Horcruxes was one part of that duty.

He bowed low to Sean, then vanished.

When he was gone, Sean picked up the two hairs and dropped each into a separate vial, then gave them a gentle shake. The Polyjuice inside one turned a deep, pitch‑black. The other went a murky, muddy green so dark it was almost black, both colours clashing together in an unpleasant chaos.

Sean eyed them and could not help shaking his head.

“As expected of Voldemort’s most fanatical devotee and mistress,” he muttered. “Her Polyjuice is actually black. And that swamp‑green one… green gone black. The wizarding world’s Green‑Hat King, to a fault.”

Polyjuice in hand, he went straight to the Alchemy classroom office and knocked.

Pushing the door open, he saw Fleur sitting at the desk, quill in hand, marking essays.

“Do you have a moment, Professor Delacour?” he asked.

Fleur looked up at him and smiled. “That depends on what you want,” she said.

“What if I wanted to ask you some questions about my studies?” Sean said innocently.

“In that case, I am afraid I have no time at all,” Fleur replied at once. “You can go back and teach yourself. And if you cannot manage, then give up.”

Sean gave a helpless little laugh and tried again.

“What if I asked Mademoiselle Fleur to come out for a walk,” he said, “and give me a hand with something along the way?”

At that, Fleur set her quill down, rose and pulled on her outer robe.

“If it is that,” she said cheerfully, “then I have all the time in the world.”

“You really are not a very responsible teacher, Professor Delacour.”

“I am perfectly responsible with everyone else,” she said sweetly. “Just not with you.”

“All right, enough bickering. Come out with me. It might be a little dangerous, but it should not be anything too serious.”

He handed her the vial of Polyjuice that held Bellatrix’s hair.

“Drink this when we are on our way to Gringotts in Diagon Alley,” he said. “We are going there to take something out of a vault.”

“Gringotts?” Fleur’s eyes gleamed. “Now that is exciting.”

They left the office side by side. The instant they stepped into the corridor, Sean cast the Disillusionment Charm, wiping them both from sight. Shrouded in invisibility, they walked openly out of Hogwarts, past patrolling Aurors and through the suffocating air of Ministry‑imposed control.

Since Harry’s last appearance at Hogwarts, the Aurors had officially taken up permanent station in the school. They were all loyal to the pure‑blood faction and to Umbridge, and they watched Hogwarts with fanatical intensity. Their surveillance extended from the professors to the students. Only the house common rooms and the teachers’ private offices remained free of their direct interference.

Even there, though, the Slytherin Brotherhood reserves had eyes.

The Brotherhood no longer limited itself to Slytherin. It had placed informants in all four houses, even Gryffindor.

Their numbers were small—one or two in a house at most—but they existed. That much was obvious from what had happened the previous week, when the Weasley twins had plotted a grand prank against the Aurors in their own common room, only to find their plans somehow discovered in advance and punished.

Those informants had poisoned the atmosphere in all four houses. No one trusted anyone. Friendships that had once been easy and open were now strained and guarded. People watched their words with care.

The professors had protested more than once.

All it earned them was a stream of moralising political platitudes and a stack of baseless disciplinary warnings.

Once Sean and Fleur had passed beyond Hogwarts’s grounds, they dropped their Disillusionment and Apparated to Diagon Alley, emerging near Gringotts.

At once, they both drew out their vials and drained the contents.

Fleur swallowed Bellatrix’s Polyjuice and immediately pulled a face, tongue sticking out.

“Ugh,” she said. “Rotten wood. That is what it tastes like. Revolting.”

“Mine tastes like rancid weeds,” Sean said. “Fitting for the Green‑Hat King. Not only is his colour so green it has gone black, it even tastes like the open prairie.”

As they spoke, their bodies twisted and stretched. Moments later, Bellatrix Lestrange and Rodolphus Lestrange stood where they had been.

In Bella’s form, Fleur slipped her arm through Sean’s, pressing herself close. Together, they walked into Gringotts.

“Ah,” one of the goblins said, eyes narrowing. “Madam Lestrange. And Mr Lestrange. What brings you to Gringotts today?”

Fleur was quick‑witted and did not need Sean’s hint. She drew herself up, chin high, and let an air of contempt settle over her features.

“I am here to retrieve some of my belongings,” she said coldly. “As to what they are, I hardly think I need to explain that to you.”

“Of course not,” the goblin replied smoothly. “However, for security reasons, we must perform a brief verification. If Madam Lestrange would be so kind as to present her—”

Before he could finish, Sean’s hand, hidden deep in his sleeve, tightened around his wand.

“Soul Displacement,” he whispered.

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 300

Chapter 300: Victory! Lamp Brightness Rises! The World Has Learned Your Name

With Ethan’s declaration, the last rose petal drifted down from the thorny stem.

At the same time—

A panicked shout: "No!"

Crack.

The second Black Egg shattered.

Boom.

The now‑familiar black mist surged into the sky, writhing with howling, twisted faces. Fleur’s face went white again.

"Damn it!"

Cedric clenched his fist, wiping the blood from his nose, staring in frustration at the dark fog boiling up in front of him.

This broken Black Egg was Hogwarts’s.

Durmstrang had smashed it at the final moment.

If only he had been more careful…

There was no going back.

The black mist rushed toward him. Cedric yanked up his wand—and froze.

The pressure rolling off it crushed him in place.

A single heartbeat of distraction could decide life and death.

The darkness lunged.

His eyes flew wide.

The weight of it was terrifying.

And this probably was still not as bad as the dragon’s presence had been.

He gulped.

He was about to be—

"Avis."

The clear voice rang out.

Sunlight speared through the storm.

Dazzling gold tore through the black fog and spilled across Cedric’s face. He stared, stunned.

A shrill cry echoed over the lake.

Slender golden birds with long streaming tails wheeled in the air, circling with effortless grace.

Where they flew, all corruption burned away.

In barely two seconds, the Obscurus that had paralysed Cedric and forced Luna to pour out every drop of magic to cleanse it before was gone.

Only the holy, golden birds remained, circling and calling overhead, scattering gold dust over the water.

"What a pity. A little bit more and you would have held it," Ethan said lightly.

He lowered his wand, gold still flowing at its tip, and smiled at Cedric’s slack face.

Had he frightened him senseless?

It should not be that bad. The Obscurus’s faces were actually rather cute.

He replayed the writhing mass of screaming visages in his head and nodded, satisfied.

"So… so amazing," Cedric choked.

He looked at Ethan, eyes blazing with sudden, blinding admiration, nearly overflowing with worship.

"To sweep away the black mist so easily. If I had not felt its pressure myself, I would have thought it weak."

He staggered to his feet, ignoring the bruises mottling his handsome face from his earlier brawl, and lurched toward Ethan.

"I... I will follow you forever. Please, grant me your supreme guid—"

Splash.

Ethan dumped him straight off the platform into the freezing lake.

Dusting off his hands, he peered down with mild sympathy at Cedric floundering in the water.

"Your brain has clearly been knocked loose," he said kindly. "Cool it off a bit."

The Durmstrang champions stared.

Should that not be treated, not dunked?

Was Hogwarts’s training always this brutal?

"Is that why Hogwarts’s champions are so strong…" Krum muttered, thoughtful.

His gaze slid, dangerous, over his own teammates.

They blanched.

No. No, thank you.

Do not let the god of pain and torment corrupt you.

In the end, Ethan dismissed the giant vines and soothed the offended Kraken.

As agreed, he handed over a female giant squid in a glass tank.

The Kraken’s mood brightened at once. It flushed pink all over, hugging the jar delightedly as it sank back into the depths.

Whatever became of the Black Lake in a few decades—or a century—would be someone else’s problem.

Not Ethan’s.

Heehee.

At last, the second task of the Triwizard Tournament drew to a close.​

The lake’s surface was littered with bodies—no, with champions who had had the misfortune to fall in.

There was no need to worry. All of them were sleeping like babies.

Fleur’s real sister stirred and woke, dazed, into her sobbing arms.

"I am really all right, Sister," Gabrielle murmured, nestling into the warm embrace and patting her back. "It just felt like I had a very nice sleep."

In truth, even Gabrielle could hardly believe what her sister described.

It had felt like nothing more than a nap in some dark, cosy place.

"Good. That is good," Fleur said thickly.

She lifted her head to thank Ethan—and froze when she saw Luna in his arms.

That little blonde girl, Luna, was truly formidable, wielding power far beyond her years.

Fleur admitted defeat.

Not completely.

Ethan was still far too dangerous. Only poetic, romantic France could truly refine his temperament.

She had lost this round.

But not the war.

Her eyes on Ethan gleamed with the focus of a hunting cat.

"Achoo!"

Ethan sneezed.

Under a ring of startled looks, he wiped his nose and muttered, "Someone is plotting my demise."

Several people were left speechless.

Who in their right mind would dare plot against the Chosen One?

That would be the real "champion."

On the way back, Ethan took pity for once and revealed the full Glass Bridge for everyone to walk on.

When the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons champions saw there were sections that needed a running jump even like this, they lost it.

"You absolute—!@#%&*!"

Ethan, be human for once!

Back in the stands, the mood was very different from after the first task.

Every student stared at the Hogwarts trio.

Their eyes especially followed Luna.

The image of moonlight washing the lake clean was burned into their minds.

They could not believe magic like that had come from "the crazy Ravenclaw girl"—or that anyone could have done such a thing.

A cough from the judges’ table.

Ludo Bagman cleared his throat and announced, "Unfortunately, Hogwarts and Beauxbatons both failed to protect their Black Eggs. The only intact Egg belongs to Durmstrang."

Krum’s mouth curled.

He flicked a glance at Cedric’s clenched fists.

The second task was theirs.

"However," Bagman went on, expression suddenly bright.

Krum’s stomach dipped.

"In light of Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood’s outstanding control of magic, Hogwarts will receive bonus points."

"Which means the final scores are… Hogwarts wins by a narrow margin in first place, Durmstrang second, Beauxbatons third."

"Overall standings unchanged."

Krum’s face went as dark as a soot‑black cauldron.

For two seconds, the stands were frozen.

Then the cheering hit like a tidal wave.

"We’re first! We’re first!" Lee Jordan bellowed, bouncing and hoarse.

"Hogwarts wins!"

Dumbledore chuckled.

Karkaroff stalked out in a billow of robes.

Madame Maxime, bolstered by Fleur’s strong performance, managed to keep her composure, clapping stiffly.

From a few pairs of hands, the applause spread and swelled until it filled the stands.

Every student rose to their feet and saluted the three returning champions.

It had been a hard‑fought victory.

And the key had been the very two they had all assumed would fail: Neville and Luna.

"Turns out the clown was me."

"I never knew Luna was that powerful. She is every bit as much a pride of Ravenclaw."

"No wonder she was chosen as a champion."

"Neville! Neville! Neville!"

"Luna! Luna! Luna!"

Just like after the first task, the students surged down from the stands, hoisted their champions up, and flung them into the air.

"Next time, I will not slip," Cedric vowed, clenching his fists.

"I will let Ethan see how far I have come."

Across the way, Cedric met Krum’s scowling gaze.

Lightning crackled between them.

On the other side, no one dared to fight Ethan for Luna, and she was still weak from her magic.

So Luna remained where she was, tucked in his arms.

The noise roused her.

She blinked awake to a forest of hands reaching toward her, the faces behind them lit with joy.

"…" Luna paused, then turned her head.

"Is this a zombie siege?" she asked Ethan.

The students fell silent.

Then nodded inwardly.

That was… very Luna.

Hermione pushed her way through and stopped in front of Luna.

She ducked her head, lips moving soundlessly for a moment, then snapped it up again, cheeks flaming.

"S‑sorry, Luna," she said, enunciating each word. "I used to think you were not right in the head, always rambling, always talking about creatures that do not exist…"

She hesitated, frowning, then added rapidly, "I still do not believe Wrackspurts are real. There are no tiny invisible things in the air flying around—"

Harry coughed loudly behind her.

"Oh." Hermione flushed deeper. "So, I realised I was far too full of myself. That is all."

"Can you forgive me, and be my good friend?"

Luna blinked.

She looked at Hermione’s awkward, embarrassed face and suddenly smiled.

"I thought we were already friends," she said lightly.

Hermione stared, then her eyes filled.

"Oh, Luna," she said, and flung her arms carefully around her.

Cheers and warm laughter rippled out around them.

Held in that embrace, surrounded by so much open kindness, Luna’s eyes curved like crescent moons.

Her smile was brighter than ever.

This is wonderful, she thought.

Without Ethan, she might never have had a moment like this.

Meeting him had been the best luck of her life.

She turned and met his gaze, and they shared a quiet, sweet smile.

[You have successfully hosted the second task, created many moving moments, and ensured everyone had great fun.]

[Soul fusion increased by 1.8%.]

[Lamp brightness increased.]

[Congratulations! Rank up complete.]

[Lamp Brightness: Dawn → Bright.]

[The world has now begun to learn your name.]

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 428

Chapter 428: The Raid, Deep Realm Eruption, Eleanor Taken

Just as planned, Voldemort and his followers smashed through the Ministry’s defences and into its depths.

"Spread death. Buy me time," Voldemort said, heading straight for the Brain Room.

According to Rookwood, that was where the Department of Mysteries maintained its access to the Deep Realm.

Death Eaters poured out of the chamber where the Silent Tablets were kept. The Unspeakables froze for a heartbeat at the sudden attack. By then, waves of Killing Curses were already roaring toward them.

They threw up a defence at once, sealing sections of the corridor with Transfiguration to block the curses. Makeshift cover sprang up all along the passage as both sides hurled spells over and around it.

Voldemort used the chaos to reach the Brain Room. There he thrust the shard of Chaos into the great tank, forcing open the road to the Sixth Layer.

Up on Level Eight’s antechamber, Rookwood burst into the Director’s office.

"Director, Deep Realm incursion. Voldemort and his Death Eaters have broken into the Brain Room. They are opening a path to the Sixth Layer," he said.

The Director was already in full kit. Magic rolled off him, so dense that the air around him seemed to warp.

"Let us go and see," he said calmly.

Rookwood, hearing the tone under that calm, could feel the killing intent.

They went through the Planet Room and the Love Chamber and out into the corridor where the Unspeakables were still fighting.

"Director!" one of the young witches cried when she saw him. Morale soared at once.

"Open me a path. I am going through," he said.

"But they will not stop firing Killing Curses," she said, biting her lip.

"Obey," the Director said, voice like ice.

Their chief had spoken. The Unspeakables opened a gap in their barricade. The Director stepped into the hail of curses.

The Death Eaters redoubled their fire as soon as they saw someone walking toward them. It made no difference. Magic thickened around the Director, a black, baleful aura wrapping him like a cloak.

Every spell unraveled before it could touch him.

It felt as if a forest of white bone had sprung up between them, a wind like the breath of graves licking their faces, inviting them to join the feast.

"Each Silent Tablet is linked to a power. Do you know what power lies behind Britain’s Tablet?" the Director asked, almost conversational.

A heartbeat later, his body burst apart into a flurry of black feathers. They blew across the corridor and drifted down over the Death Eaters.

The Director reappeared behind them, a pair of ink-dark wings unfurling like shadows at his back.

"Death," he said. "Sadly, no one guessed. So your punishment is… death."

His words became law.

Powered by the world’s blood, magic, and the vast mind-force granted by the Protocol, they rewrote reality. Fate’s strings shuddered, and the Death Eaters met a death none of them could escape.

"Tch. And this is all it takes to come crashing into the Department of Mysteries," the Director said, smiling faintly.

He turned and walked toward the Brain Room.

Inside, the opened path to the Sixth Layer, the City of No Return, and Voldemort’s Chaos shard together had sent the Sixth Layer’s power surging upward in a violent eruption.

Eleanor, arriving at the Department, felt the Deep Realm’s swell at once. She broke into a run and reached the guarded corridor.

"What is happening inside?" she demanded.

"The Director has gone in. The Dark Lord seems to have used the Brain Room’s array to open the way to the Sixth Layer," Rookwood answered quickly, seizing the lead.

"Open the way. I am going in too," Eleanor said.

"You cannot. The Deep Realm will already be bleeding through. Forcing your way in will get you killed," one of the Unspeakables said, grabbing her arm.

"Yes. The Deep Realm protection systems are sealed in with the Brain Room. Only the Director can cross that boundary now," another said urgently.

"No. I can go in."

Eleanor had no time left for secrecy. She could not let the Director face that alone. If he fell before a new bearer for the Silent Tablet appeared, all of Britain would lie under the Deep Realm’s shadow. Her son would be swallowed up by it.

"I have something like a Tablet in my body. I can cross. Stand aside," she said again.

Her earrings glimmered. Mind‑force spilled out around her, forming a faint shield.

Eleanor stepped into the Deep-Realm-tainted air.

No one noticed the greed rolling behind Rookwood’s eyes. None of them saw him slip after her under a Disillusionment Charm, wrapped in his own protective device.

In the Brain Room, the Director, wielding the Tablet’s power, was locked in combat with Voldemort.

Death was a treacherous force to harness. Voldemort, using Chaos, could only just hold the line.

Both men were peak dark wizards in their own right, built for destruction and killing. With the Protocol and the Chaos shard in play, their magic hit so hard that a single clean strike could end the other. It was like duelling on the edge of razors.

Green lightning chains and black brilliance collided again and again. The pressure of the stray magic was already warping the alchemical apparatus around them.

The glass jars that held the brains creaked, straining.

For the first time, both duelists wore the same expression: urgency.

Why is she not here yet? they each thought.

"Scatter. Return."

The clear, ringing voice echoed through the Brain Room.

Chaos shuddered and bowed, like a lesser beast before a higher king.

"She is here," Voldemort said, eyes lighting with grim delight.

"Delight," the old Director thought, reading him in a heartbeat.

"Eleanor, get out of here!" he shouted.

Too late.

"Stupefy!"

Red light shot in from behind and slammed into Eleanor, hurling her across the floor.

A man’s silhouette rippled into view out of the air. Using Eleanor as a focus, he triggered his Portkey and vanished.

Rookwood.

"Hahahaha. Got her," Voldemort said, activating his own Portkey.

"Eleanor!"

The Director let his magic explode outward. Death gathered into a hair-thin black line and scythed through Voldemort’s Chaos-wreathed body, severing a portion of the Chaos core forever.

"What—"

Voldemort’s eyes widened. The Portkey still tore him away.

"Damn…"

The Director’s outburst had cost him dearly. Death was not a force that yielded lightly to mortal hands. He had no strength left for a second chase. He collapsed amid the shattered equipment of the Brain Room.

At least that last strike had shattered the Chaos core. The path Voldemort had prised open with it snapped shut. Without that, the Deep Realm’s eruption would have gone on, and all Britain might have been dragged down into the Sixth Layer.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 3447

Chapter 347: Guilt

"Dudley, you... you are not seriously thinking about going to look for Sirius Black, are you?" Hermione asked, watching his expression.

"It is just an idea. I have already faced Grindelwald and Lord Voldemort in person. There is no reason for Black to be more frightening than either of them," Dudley said lightly.

He knew Black was an extremely dangerous Dark wizard. So what? He had already met and even crossed wands with two generations of Dark Lords. As Voldemort’s former follower, Sirius Black did not particularly scare him.

"That..." Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

It was as if they suddenly remembered that the boy in front of them was not an ordinary third‑year Hogwarts student.

"Well, if you really are going to do it, make sure you bring me along," Harry said.

"You?" Dudley raised an eyebrow.

"He is supposed to be after me, isn't he? I'd quite like to meet this Dark wizard for myself. Besides, if you're there, I don't have to worry about my safety," Harry said with a crooked grin.

"We will see when the time comes," Dudley said, not agreeing outright.

The rain continued to pour down. Whether it was the Dementors or something else, the first day of term felt far colder and darker than the last two years.

But when they saw Hogwarts Castle glowing with warm, golden light, much of that chill lifted from their hearts.

"Oh, there you are at last."

The moment they stepped into the castle, a familiar voice reached them.

"Professor McGonagall."

All four of them greeted the witch in the dark green cloak at once.

"You four manage to cause me trouble every single year. Do you really think I have nothing better to do?" Professor McGonagall said, her mouth flattening into a thin line as she regarded her House’s four "star" students.

"We do not want to cause trouble. Trouble keeps finding us," Ron muttered.

"Mr Weasley, last year you took your father’s flying car and crashed it into the Whomping Willow, did you not?" she said.

"Do you need me to help refresh your memory? Perhaps by sending another letter to your mother?"

Ron blanched. "N‑No, that is not necessary. I remember."

He would never forget that Howler as long as he lived.

Seeing him back down, McGonagall turned her gaze on the other three, finally letting it rest on Dudley.

"Dudley, I know you are very strong, and I know you can deal with Dementors. But acting as you did makes everything far more complicated and much harder to resolve," she said with a sigh, worry in her eyes.

"Professor McGonagall, about what happened on the train..." Harry began, but she lifted a hand to stop him.

"There is no need to explain. I already know what happened. You truly did nothing wrong. But there are better ways to handle such things than by taking matters into your own hands, are there not?"

"Especially when there was a new Hogwarts professor right beside you. Even if danger had arisen, he would have stepped in to help."

"Now, however..." Her expression grew more troubled.

"Professor, is the Ministry going to punish us?" Hermione asked quickly.

"No," McGonagall said, shaking her head. "Professor Dumbledore has already sorted it out."

Hermione let out a quiet breath of relief.

"But you cannot expect Professor Dumbledore to step in every time. And besides..." She trailed off for a moment, as if hesitating over whether to go on.

"Professor, please, just tell us. What has happened?" Dudley said calmly.

"Although Professor Dumbledore has settled this particular incident, it has worsened his relationship with Minister Fudge," McGonagall said. "He may not be able to involve himself in many matters from now on."

"So you must be more careful about what you do in the future. Otherwise, the Ministry really may move directly against you."

Dudley was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"I understand," he said.

"Good. Now, off you go to the feast," she said, patting his arm with a small, approving nod.

After saying goodbye to Professor McGonagall, they headed towards the Great Hall.

The mood was heavy.

They did not particularly mind her scolding them. What sat badly was knowing that Dumbledore had paid such a price for their actions. It felt as if they had made a mistake and someone else was bearing the punishment, and guilt weighed on them.

"Maybe we really should stop getting into so much trouble," Hermione said quietly.

"Hermione, it is not always us starting it. Half the time it is trouble that keeps coming after us," Ron said, spreading his hands.

"At least inside the castle, things should be quieter," Dudley said. "No need to be so discouraged."

The wizarding world might be in chaos, but most of that chaos was outside. Within Hogwarts, things were still relatively stable.

If Dudley caused any waves in the future, it would be outside the school walls, and he would make very sure not to link those actions to his real identity.

By the time they entered the Great Hall, the Sorting Ceremony was already over.

They found seats and began to eat.

Dudley’s gaze drifted past the dishes to the staff table.

Professor Dumbledore was eating as normal. His arm seemed to have healed, but there was still a tiredness about his face.

Sensing Dudley’s eyes on him, Dumbledore looked up, smiled, and lifted his goblet in a small toast.

Dudley picked up his own glass of juice and nodded back.

After the feast, Dumbledore spoke at length, more than in the past two years put together.

First, he reminded everyone to take extra care this year. Then he explained that Dementors would be stationed at every entrance and exit of the school, and warned them not to try to leave. Even Invisibility Cloaks, he added, would not hide them.​

It was obvious who that last remark was aimed at.

He also announced that Hagrid would be taking over as the new Care of Magical Creatures professor, and that Remus Lupin was replacing Lockhart as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

What struck Dudley as odd was the way Snape watched Lupin, eyes cold and hard throughout the announcements. He could not tell whether Snape had already realised Lupin was a werewolf or if there was some other grudge between them.

Night fell, and everyone returned to the Gryffindor common room, where most of the talk revolved around Dementors and Sirius Black.

Dudley took a soft armchair in a corner and did not join in. He sat quietly, turning a Tarot card over and over between his fingers.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 456

Chapter 456: The Old House Changes Hands

Harry had never imagined that, just to catch him, Umbridge would personally lead a team of Aurors to Hogwarts.

He trusted his Invisibility Cloak. He did not trust himself.

He hurried towards the secret passage he had used to come in. Just as he was about to slip inside, Umbridge’s shrill, sickly‑sweet little‑girl voice sounded right by his ear.

“Harry Potter! You can certainly run away, but your friends may not be so lucky!”

Following the sound, Harry crept to the railing and looked down from the upper floor.

On the ground floor, he saw Hermione and Ron being held fast, forced to stand in place.

Umbridge stood there with her short, stubby wand levelled at Hermione.

“Harry Potter!” she called. “If you do not come out, I shall have no choice but to expel Miss Granger on the spot and hand her over to the Dementors for Azkaban. As for the charge, she has violated multiple Educational Decrees issued by the Ministry of Magic concerning Hogwarts. I think that will do nicely!”

At that moment, Professor McGonagall and Snape arrived with several others, trying to stop her.

They were too late.

Harry drew a deep breath, tore off his Invisibility Cloak and stepped into view.

“Umbridge, I am right here,” he shouted. “Everything that happened was my idea. If you have the guts, come and get me!”

At the sight of him, Umbridge was already imagining the rewards she would receive for delivering Harry to Voldemort with her own hands. Just picturing it made the Dark Mark on her right forearm burn pleasantly, sending waves of heat through her skin.

She raised her thick little wand and barked an order to the Aurors who had already thrown their lot in with her.

“Seize him!”

Her Aurors surged forward, and they weren't alone. Students from the Slytherin Brotherhood reserves charged up as well, racing to the third floor. They quickly surrounded Harry and began firing spells from all sides.

Harry fought back as hard as he could, but one wand could not hold off a dozen for long. Soon, he was reduced to barely keeping up, spells smashing into the floor and walls all around him. A tall Auror broke through the line and lunged in, hand outstretched to grab him.

Kreacher appeared at Harry’s side in a crack of displaced air, snatched hold of him and Disapparated on the spot.

In that same instant, the tall Auror’s arm, which he had already begun to pull back, seemed to be yanked forward by an invisible force. His sleeve brushed Harry’s robes just as Kreacher twisted them away, and he was dragged bodily into the warped vortex of Apparition.

The three of them reappeared in Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

“Kreacher! Look what you have done!” someone yelled.

“Harry, move!” came another shout.

The moment the tall Auror arrived in the old house, information about Number 12 Grimmauld Place exploded into his mind. He realised at once where he was.

This was it. The Order of the Phoenix headquarters that Umbridge and the Ministry had been searching for in vain.

He had stumbled straight into it.

In that heartbeat, understanding dawned. He whipped up his wand, threw a Shield Charm that knocked aside Sirius’s incoming Stunning Spell, then blasted through a nearby window with another jinx. He dove out and Disapparated at once.

Watching him escape, everyone inside Grimmauld Place moved at once.

Some began jamming belongings into bags and trunks as fast as they could. Others rushed to contact Dumbledore and Sean. A third group ran out into the street to find scattered Order members and warn them about what had happened.

Within ten minutes, Number 12 Grimmauld Place had been stripped bare.

Everyone was gone.

Three minutes after that, a squad of witches and wizards appeared with a series of loud cracks outside the hidden house. Umbridge and Borel led them in. Guided by the tall Auror, they stormed through the door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

The house was already empty.

In the kitchen, Borel laid a hand on the still‑warm stove.

“They left only a short while ago,” he said to Umbridge.

“These sewer rats,” Umbridge snarled. “However you grab, they always slip through your fingers.”

“This must be reported to the master,” Borel said calmly. “Take your people back. I will inform him what has happened here.”

Umbridge would have preferred to go herself and claim the credit. But there was still the Ministry to manage. After a moment’s thought, she gave a sharp nod.

“Of course,” she simpered. “I will trouble you to speak to him first. When I have a spare moment, I shall go and give the master a full account of today’s events.”

Borel’s answering smile did not touch his eyes.

He knew perfectly well she was warning him not to try and claim all the glory. He could not have cared less. A scrap of merit like this meant nothing to him. He was not about to demean himself by squabbling over it.

Borel left. Umbridge took her people away as well.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place fell silent once more.

Only Kreacher remained, hunched in the shadows of a corner, waiting for the people young master Sean had told him to expect.

“So,” Voldemort said later, “the place the Order was using as its headquarters is in fact the ancestral Black family home?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Borel replied.

Voldemort inclined his head.

“Very good, Borel. You and Dolores have done well. It is a pity you did not manage to kill one or two of those Order rats, but even so, you have done well.”

He turned to Bellatrix, standing at his side.

"Since it is the Blacks' ancestral home," he went on, "you, as one of the Black heirs, will go and take possession of it. You may even find some hidden information."

“You may even find some hidden information.”

“Thank you for your generosity, my Lord,” Bellatrix breathed.

“Go, Bellatrix,” Voldemort said. “Take Rodolphus and Rabastan with you.”

“As you command, my Lord.”

Bellatrix exchanged a glance with her husband and her brother‑in‑law. The three of them left the hidden chamber at Malfoy Manor in turn and Disapparated, each of them reappearing outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Bellatrix stepped into the house.

For once, a rare light of remembrance showed in her eyes, the usual madness drawn back and dimmed.

Then, all at once, she whipped out her wand and aimed it at a darkened corner.

Kreacher shuffled out of the shadows, limbs trembling.

“Could it be… could it be Miss Bella?” he whispered. “Is it truly Miss Bella?”

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 299

Chapter 299: Moonlight Purifies All; The Second Task Ends

Fleur stared blankly at Luna.

She could not understand how this girl remained so calm. She could not understand why Luna had stepped in to help her at all.

Her eyes flicked sideways toward the Hogwarts side of the lake.

Their families had all been rescued and were now facing off against the Durmstrang champions.

"Stand up and raise your wand, Miss Delacour."

The voice, clear and musical like a song, pulled Fleur back.

She looked up into Luna’s clear blue eyes. There was something in the words themselves that tugged at her.

Almost without thinking, she pushed herself to her feet and tightened her grip on her wand.

"Good," Luna said, smiling, sudden and bright. "Then please hold out a little longer."

Blue light rippled from her.

Like a veil of night being unfurled, it spread around them, weaving a river of stars and moons.

It was the same spell she had begun in the Great Hall before Dumbledore interrupted.

Fleur’s pupils shrank.

She watched Luna rise again.

The slight body curled in on itself, eyes closing as if she were sinking into a cradle of darkness. Power thrummed in the air, and a mantle of silver light bloomed around her.

"What is she trying to do…?" Fleur whispered, voice raw.

"She said she would show me a miracle. Does she really think she can fix something I cannot even touch?"

Do not overestimate yourself.

Fleur bit down hard on her lip, neat white teeth leaving dents in the red.

A shriek split the air.

Twisted faces coalesced in the black mist ahead, howling and clawing toward her.

They rushed her like a flood.

"Boom!"

Red light burst within the dark.

Through the clearing fog, Fleur’s face showed, set and fierce.

Her chest heaved. She held her wand high, its tip blazing scarlet.

"I do not need saving," she panted.

"I can blow that foul thing to pieces myself."

"Prison de glace!(Ice Prison)"

She slashed her wand.

Spears of ice burst from beneath her "sister’s" feet, freezing the clinging mist and locking her limbs in place.

Her "sister" roared, writhing, black fog boiling from her skin and gnawing at the ice.

But the ice only climbed higher, thickening, cold so deep it seemed to freeze magic itself.

Frost crept over exposed skin.

It was all right. Ethan had said her sister would not truly be harmed.

So it would be fine.

Fleur’s jaw clenched. Sweat streamed down her forehead.

For the first time in her life she poured everything she had into a spell, every last scrap of control.

If Ethan’s aim really had been to force them to grow, to train their magic, he had succeeded.

These two tasks had done more for her than any training at Beauxbatons.

A web of cracks raced through the ice.

The Obscurus ate at it, and Fleur’s wand hand shook under the strain.

"Damn… I cannot hold it… Ah!"

The ice shattered with a bang, hurling Fleur backwards.

The raging black fog surged after her.

Too fast.

Fleur’s eyes flew wide.

There was no time to react, no time for anything.

The mist’s screaming faces lunged in, jaws yawning.

So in the end… I still could not…

Silver light crashed down.

Moonlight poured like a falling river, obliterating the black faces in an instant.

"What… what happened?"

Fleur blinked up, dazed.

And saw something she would remember for the rest of her life.

A full moon.

A perfect disc of silver‑white, edged in faint blue, descended from the star‑strewn sky overhead.

At some point she had stopped seeing the lake and the stands at all.

Night wrapped the world.

Stars like diamonds burned in the water’s reflection, scattered on the ripples.

Luna’s golden hair floated in that darkness.

She hung there in the moon’s glow, like a spirit born from its light. Her face was pale as carved jade, hair spilling like liquid gold, the corners of her mouth lifted in the smallest smile.

The full moon rested in her arms as it sank.

For a few heartbeats, there was no pain, no screaming.

There was only the slow, inexorable fall of that moon.

It drifted toward Fleur’s "sister," still shrouded in black fog.

The mist rushed to block it.

The moon brushed it aside like dry leaves, shattering every tongue of darkness that dared reach for it. Each burst of contact wrung another howl from the Obscurus.

"So strong… what magic is that?" Fleur whispered.

She sat down hard, eyes fixed on the silver light.

Her body trembled.

Not even at Beauxbatons—nowhere—had she seen magic that could do this.

It was like watching the sky itself change colour.

Had she never had a chance from the very beginning?

Her mouth tightened, yet a strange calm settled in her chest.

Maybe that was what it felt like to see the true distance between herself and the golden‑haired girl inside the moon.

The world fell silent.

Cedric and Krum both broke off their scuffle, bruised faces turning toward the light.

They stared, forgetting to fight.

In the stands, students lowered their telescopes in unison.

They watched with their own eyes, wordless, held by the sight.

"So beautiful," a Muggle‑born student whispered. "Is magic really something this beautiful?"

Tears blurred the view.

At last, the full moon’s light reached Fleur’s "sister."

Light exploded.

Silver poured across the lake, like a tide stirring all the stars in its depths.

Countless pinpoints of brilliance spun and wheeled, laughing in the radiance.

"Wow…"

Fleur reached out without thinking.

When her fingers brushed one of the blue‑white motes, a coolness flowed up her hand and through her entire body.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

It felt as if something inside her had been scrubbed clean.

The sky overhead was black velvet. The lake below shone like spilled mercury.

The two mirrored each other, making the world feel like a dream.

As if Luna had reached up and carried the moon down to earth.

This was ancient magic.

Luna’s own Moon Magic.

Gentle—and overwhelming.

A scream, thin and raw, split the night.

The pure light pressed the blackness out of the "sister’s" body, forcing it out in gouts like mud.

It spewed from nose and mouth and ears, only to be shredded to nothing by the same light.

In only a few breaths, the Obscurus‑born curse was gone.

The girl collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, eyes empty, looking half‑dead.

No one saw the black door that irised open beneath her.

No one saw the almost identical body swap places in a heartbeat.

This girl’s sleeping face was peaceful.

Slowly, the moonlight thinned.

The strange night overhead faded. The sparkling sky vanished, leaving only the usual grey.

Luna began to fall.

Her strength was gone; she was going to crumple.

Fleur reached out on instinct.

Before she could touch her, a pair of arms closed around Luna from behind, holding her steady.

Ethan.

One of the architects of this mad, magnificent task.

Fleur’s eyes widened.

She watched the unconscious girl rest against his chest, and—for the first time—saw something almost human flicker across Ethan’s face.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip.

Her hand clenched.

"You did very well, Luna," Ethan said softly. "Better than anyone expected."

He brushed a stray lock from her forehead, then glanced at the rose under glass in his hand.

Several petals lay on the bottom of the dome.

He lifted his head.

His clear voice rang out over the Black Lake.

"Time’s up."

"I declare the second task of the Triwizard Tournament… officially over."

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 427

Chapter 427: Tom’s Doubt, A Ruinous Choice

When Tom from the future was annihilated, the Tom of this era felt it at once.

"That woman has been destroyed. By whom?" he muttered.

He had only just seized Chaos’ power. He knew he was not yet a match for Dumbledore, who had been wielding a Deep Realm King for over fifty years. Caution tugged at him on one side.

On the other hand, the scraps of information his future self had brought back, and her usual, blazing arrogance, pulled the other way.

Talking to another version of himself had been unbearably awkward, so she had told him very little about the future. Just that damnable Prewett, the accursed Prewetts, that only a dead Prewett was a good Prewett.

Beyond that, all Tom knew was that Lily Potter’s son had rebounded his Killing Curse, that he would manage to resurrect himself fourteen years later, and a few scattered notes like the names of certain loyal Death Eaters such as Severus Snape.

"What to do, what to do…" Young Tom paced the hall of Riddle Manor, troubled.

"My Lord."

Someone knocked on the great doors. A familiar voice drifted in.

Tom flicked his wand. The doors swung open to reveal a tall man with greasy hair and a face full of pockmarks, wearing a perpetually bored expression.

"Ah, Rookwood, my good friend. What brings you to me?" Tom said warmly, taking the hand of the Department of Mysteries’ man he had planted.

Augustus Rookwood was the reason Tom had recently held a special ritual to draw on Chaos’ power in the first place: to erode the contract bound into the Silent Tablets and tempt the Unspeakables into betrayal.

"Lord, I think the old fox has noticed something. He let Eleanor Prewett go early," Rookwood said.

His gloom, tinged with a kind of weary misanthropy, made it hard to read his face. As for his mind, Tom could not pierce it at all. Unspeakables specialised in the power of thought.

"What? Your plan involved the Prewetts and you did not say so earlier?" For once, Tom dropped his usual gracious mask in front of a subordinate.

"I was not sure you would keep your word. The secret the Prewetts hold is too tempting," Rookwood said, staring straight back. After all, the two of them were only partners, not master and servant.

"I will swear it in blood. I do not care about the Prewetts’ treasures. I want only this: that the Prewett line be ended," Tom said.

Panic had frayed his reason. He did not have time for careful manoeuvres.

"All right," Rookwood said.

Tom drew his wand and sliced a drop of blood from his hand. Rookwood did the same. The two drops met in midair and merged, spinning together into a small ring.

"It is done. The blood oath is set. Neither of us can block the other from reaching his goal. Now tell me about the Prewetts," Tom said.

Much as he longed to remove this witness, the power of the oath bound his hand.

"Every Deep Realm King was originally a Protocol," Rookwood began. "In the ancient age, wizards codified the surplus mental power generated by the human system into fourteen Protocols. Six of them became Deep Realm Kings. Six were forged into the Silent Tablets used by the various countries. Two more are missing."

"The Thirteenth cannot be found. The Fourteenth is held by the Prewetts."

"What does this Protocol do?" Voldemort asked, knuckles whitening on his wand.

"Legend says it can be fused into a wizard’s body, turning them into a new Deep Realm King. Or it can operate on its own. The six Kings that exist now were born that way," Rookwood said.

Tom’s greed surged. This was everything he had ever wanted: true immortality.

Green light gathered at the tip of the wand hidden behind his back. He was already thinking of how to keep this secret for himself.

He never got the chance.

Chains erupted from the ring on his finger, wrapping his wand hand in burning links. Agony lanced up his arm. He fought not to show a flicker of it on his face.

"Fine. Tell me your plan. I will give you everything you need. Just remember this: the Prewetts must die," Tom said.

Hatred blazed in his eyes.

Rookwood nodded. "I will stage a fake Deep Realm incursion inside the Department of Mysteries. By regulation, Eleanor will be recalled at once. You will lead the team to ‘deal’ with it, then seize her and use her as leverage to bring in the other two Prewetts. Then we wipe them out."

He set out a plan to slaughter an entire family as if he were discussing the weather.

Tom thought it through. For all his unease, he could not see a better way.

"Very well. We do it your way," he said.

They set the plan in motion at once.

……

By Saturday, rain was drumming steadily on London’s roofs. Rookwood arrived at the Ministry as usual, carrying a Portkey.

"Morning, Rook," one of the young women from the Department called as she passed.

"Good morning," he said with a polite smile, every inch the ordinary office worker who never carried stress over to the next day.

He went to his office, a room to the right of the Hall of Prophecy, closest to the Silent Tablets.

"Hey, Rook, I have a few newcomers here. Take them down to the Tablets to register," a burly wizard called.

"Of course," Rookwood said.

A handful of fresh recruits followed him. Together they reached the chamber where the Tablets stood.

"Look. The greatest creation of wizarding civilisation: the Silent Tablets," Rookwood said.

His voice rang with conviction. The strength and lift in his mental force infected the new Unspeakables, filling them with a heavy sense of purpose.

"Avada Kedavra."

Green lightning smashed into the nearest recruit. From him, it leapt in chains, linking the others and tearing their lives away in a heartbeat.

"So great that I am jealous enough to want to strip them down to the last scrap," Rookwood said.

The bright, proud force in his mind turned ice-cold, like some low, distant rumble from the depths of the Nine Hells. He bared his teeth at the corpses.

He snatched out the Portkey Voldemort had prepared, steeped in Chaos’ breath, and placed it beside the Tablets. A Blasting Curse detonated it.

Chaos’ aura burst outward. The Tablets felt it at once and sent a message to every Unspeakable.

"Register code-name: Chaos. Incursion location: Department of Mysteries, Silent Tablet chamber."

The message shot through the network. Every Unspeakable felt a chill lance up their spine.

We have been breached. The enemy is at the very heart of us.

The thought flashed through them all.

The Portkey flared to life. Voldemort strode into the Department of Mysteries with a squad of Death Eaters at his back.

At the same time, in Byberil village, Eleanor was fastening her Unspeakable’s robes.

"Sibby, Aiden is in your care. I have to go," she said.

"But, Madam Eleanor—" Sensen reached for her, but Eleanor had already twisted on the spot and vanished

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 3446

Chapter 346: Speculation

"So that is what this is about."

"How can the Auror Office get away with this? I am telling my family exactly what they have done. My dad will go straight to the Minister and lodge a complaint."

"This is terrifying. Has the Ministry really become this lawless?"

Murmurs broke out all along the corridor. Scrimgeour’s face grew darker and darker.

"Sharp‑tongued little brats," he said coldly. "I will get to the bottom of those matters."

"Instead of abusing your authority, you might try doing some actual work," Harry shot back.

"Have you caught Sirius Black? Have you caught Grindelwald? Have you caught Voldemort?" Dudley added.

At those three names, everyone nearby sucked in a breath.

Even the Aurors turned a shade paler.

Every witch and wizard Dudley had just listed was the stuff of nightmares.

"Ministry business is none of your concern," Scrimgeour snapped. He threw down the words and stalked off the train.

Dudley narrowed his eyes.

In that brief clash, he had seen it again: a thread of black aura coiling around Scrimgeour’s body.

Before long, the Aurors all left the carriage. Lupin raised his wand and repaired the damage to the train.

The four of them returned to their compartment. Not long after, the Hogwarts Express shuddered back into motion, and Lupin came in as well, resuming his place by the window.

"All right?" he asked.

"We are fine. Just cold," Hermione said, hunching her shoulders.

Lupin opened his battered case, took out a paper bag of chocolate, broke it into pieces and handed them round.

"Eat. It will help," he said.

They exchanged a look, then began to nibble.

Warmth spread through them almost at once, rich and soothing. The heaviness in their chests eased. Their fingers stopped aching with chill.

Lupin’s eyes moved from face to face, lingering a little longer on Harry.

"You should not have clashed with the Ministry," he said. "The Dementors may have overstepped by entering the carriages, but so long as you do not provoke them, they finish their inspection and leave."

"That is assuming they intend to leave. We had no notice of any inspection at all," Ron muttered.

"Exactly. What if they were not sent by the Ministry? If we had waited until we couldn't fight back, it would have been too late," Harry said.

"You are overthinking this," Lupin said after a pause. "Dementors are under Ministry control. They do not act without orders."

"And if there is a traitor inside the Ministry?" Dudley said, voice flat. "That is hardly unheard of, is it? I would rather keep my own life in my own hands."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione nodded quickly.

Lupin had no answer to that.

Silence fell over the compartment.

They all had a hundred things they wanted to discuss, but with Lupin sitting right there, it was not the time. Now that he was awake, they could hardly start throwing up privacy charms again without making matters worse.

Outside, the downpour drummed on the windows. The steady rattle of rain filled the carriage with a strange mix of noise and stillness.

Before long, the train slowed and came to a final halt.

A quick glance through the rain‑smeared glass confirmed it: they were back at Hogwarts at last.

Students began filing off the train. Dudley and the others pulled on their robes and, after saying goodbye to Professor Lupin, stepped down onto the platform.

"Do you really think there is a traitor in the Ministry?" Harry asked.

"I do not know. But something is definitely wrong with Scrimgeour," Dudley said.

"He feels completely brainless now. No emotional intelligence, no actual intelligence," Hermione said sourly.

"Should we tell the Ministry what we have noticed?" Ron frowned. "Scrimgeour might be under some kind of influence. I can feel it too."

"And you think they would believe you?" Harry said helplessly.

"Belief is one thing," Ron persisted. "They should at least investigate."

"If they were capable of finding the problem themselves, we would not be in the middle of it," Dudley said, shaking his head.

They climbed into one of the horseless carriages and set off towards the castle.

All four of them stiffened at the same moment.

That cold aura was back.

They leaned out to peer through the rain and saw them: two towering black figures drifting on either side of the Hogwarts gates.

Dementors.

"What in Merlin’s name is the Ministry playing at? They have actually put Dementors at the school?" Ron said, face twisted.

"Are we students or prisoners?"

Dudley drew his head back in and said nothing.

A thought had just cut through him like ice.

Was Scrimgeour only going after him because of the Dementor that had died in Surrey, with everything since then nothing more than escalating retaliation? Or had he been Dudley’s enemy from the very beginning?

Layered on top of that was the way Scrimgeour felt now, like someone quietly eroded by the side effects of a powerful Sealed Artifact along the Abyss Pathway. It led Dudley inevitably to one particular group.

The organisation that collected Sealed Artifacts in the dark.

Cole had been unable to trace them for a long time now. The way they had moved against his family, swift and thorough, still nagged at Dudley. None of it felt natural.

"Could Scrimgeour be tied to them as well?" he wondered.

"Dudley? What are you thinking?" Harry asked, seeing the look on his face.

"I am thinking the waters behind Scrimgeour may be very deep indeed," Dudley said bluntly.

All three of the others sobered at once.

To have a wizard like that, head of the Auror Office, fixated on them made the pressure almost suffocating.

Ron felt it keenly. His father worked at the Ministry. If this mess splashed onto him as well, Ron did not know what he would do.

"We will be inside the castle from now on. We should be safe there, right?" Ron said.

"The Ministry’s hand has already reached Hogwarts," Dudley replied.

As he spoke, their carriage rolled under the stone arch of the front gate. The chill seeping from the Dementors made them all shiver.

"Maybe we should make the first move and seek out Sirius Black," Dudley went on. "The way the Ministry is handling his case feels wrong. They are hiding something."

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared at him, stunned.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 455

Chapter 455: The Plan Begins

History has a strange kind of inertia, always nudging events back onto their original course, as though some self‑correcting mechanism were quietly at work.

At Hogwarts, Borel served as the Ministry’s voice, while the Slytherin Brotherhood’s reserve organisation acted as his hands and feet. They hunted for traces of the “illegal group” on behalf of Borel, the Ministry, and Umbridge. At first, Hermione’s organisation managed to hold out. But they had taken in too many people, and their membership was far too mixed. After a week, Borel and the Slytherin Brotherhood reserves finally forced open a breach.

When Sean finished his evening research and returned to his room, he found Jensen waiting at his door. Sean’s brows drew together at once. A bad feeling stirred in his chest. He did not question Jensen in the corridor, though. He opened the door, let him in, and only then turned to face him.

“Something has happened to your little group, has it not?” he asked.

Jensen blinked, then nodded. “Sean, you already knew about that?”

“I knew from the moment you joined,” Sean said. “Tell me. What happened?”

“Before dinner, someone betrayed us,” Jensen said. “They leaked information about the group. While we were training, Borel turned up with members of the Slytherin Brotherhood reserves and boxed us in. They caught a few of us. Blaise, for one. And that Longbottom from Gryffindor. But the worst part is…

“They saw Potter.”

Potter.

Harry.

Sean’s expression finally shifted to genuine surprise.

“How in Merlin’s name is Harry at Hogwarts?” he demanded.

“We did not want to trouble you,” Jensen said quickly. “Someone suggested asking Potter to teach us some magic. Out of all of us, apart from you, he knows the most spells and battle techniques, and he can teach. The Weasley twins said they could sneak Potter into Hogwarts without a sound, and with his Invisibility Cloak, he would never be spotted.

“And for a while, that was true. He has come in before every meeting, several times now. We just did not expect a traitor this time. When they came to arrest us, one of the Slytherin Brotherhood reserves caught a glimpse of Potter. Just for a second, but he is sure. So the Ministry will definitely react.”

As Jensen spoke, Sean’s mind raced.

This whole mess, he realised, was very likely the result of Dumbledore’s deliberate indulgence. If Dumbledore had really wanted to stop Harry from leaving the Order headquarters for Hogwarts, he had no shortage of ways to do it.

Dumbledore knew what Sean planned to do with the Order’s headquarters and with Kreacher.

He was cooperating, in his own way.

With that thought, Sean raised his wand. A rune flared into being in the air before him, glowing softly. There was a sharp crack, and Kreacher appeared in the middle of the room, bowing low.

“Young master Sean,” he croaked. “Kreacher greets you.”

Sean gestured for Jensen, wand half‑drawn, to relax. Then he turned to the house‑elf.

“Kreacher,” he said, “are you ready to carry out the plan?”

Excitement blazed in Kreacher’s eyes at once.

“Young master Sean is finally going to set the plan in motion?” he said eagerly. “If the plan can be completed, Kreacher is willing to give everything!”

“This plan is dangerous,” Sean said, “but it will not cost you everything. All you need to do is exactly what we discussed before. For now, go and find Harry. Stay hidden nearby. When the moment comes, help him. Get him and one Death Eater together, and send them both to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.”

“As you command, young master Sean.”

With another loud crack, Kreacher vanished from the room.

Jensen looked at Sean. “You already had a plan?” he asked nervously. “Did… did we ruin it?”

Sean shook his head.

“Do not worry. You have not ruined anything.” He hesitated for a heartbeat, then went on. “Jensen, from now on, stay with Harry and Hermione as much as you can. Help them however you are able. I have only one condition.

“Quietly, gradually, you are to support Harry. Whatever choices he makes, whatever decisions he comes to, whether you think he is right or wrong, you stand behind him. Do you understand?”

Jensen nodded at once. “I understand. I will do exactly as you say.”

That was Jensen’s great strength.

Perhaps it was the result of serving as Sean’s attendant, perhaps something in his nature. Whatever the reason, when Sean gave an order, Jensen obeyed without reservation.

Blaise, by contrast, would always ask why. He would always think for himself. That was not a flaw; in fact, it was exactly how an independent person ought to behave. But for Sean’s purposes, Jensen’s obedience was far more useful.

Watching Jensen leave, Sean felt no particular worry about Blaise, who had been taken, or about Harry, who had not.

To begin with, Blaise’s mother was not someone the Ministry could easily handle. Even now, they had to show a little respect to the wealthy patrons backing them from the shadows.

Blaise might be given a hard time, but he would not come to real harm.

As for Harry, Sean’s teaching had not been wasted. Blaise and Harry had trained side by side with him, yet Harry was already at the point where he could turn around and teach Blaise and the others in turn. That alone showed how far his strength had come.

And it was not just his combat skills and magic.

His greatest growth had been in his character and his heart. From the first year on, Sean had been quietly guiding Harry towards independence and resolve. That work was finally bearing fruit. Harry now had his own thoughts and his own plans. One only had to look at what he was doing to see it.

That growth could only benefit Sean’s schemes.

And Dumbledore’s.

There was nothing reckless or meddlesome about it.

Harry was like a catfish in a still pond. Only when he thrashed and stirred the water would the other fish start to move and bite at the hooks Sean and Dumbledore dangled in the depths. Only then could their plans truly come to fruition.

Sean let out a slow breath, cast the Disillusionment Charm on himself, and slipped out of the Slytherin common room to make sure his plan unfolded as it should.

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 298

Chapter 298: Luna Unleashed! Miss Fleur, Witness a Miracle

Barty Jr: ?!!

WTF?

Strange. Was he not supposed to be "the relative in need of rescue"?

Why was he inside the blast radius?

Only when the black mist swallowed him, only when the thick tentacle held him fast so he could not move and he felt the darkness forcing its way in through his ears, his nose, his mouth, did Barty Jr finally understand, viscerally, what Ethan meant by "torment that does not distinguish between friend and foe."

"Mmph… nnngh!"

His eyes rolled back.

Agony knotted every vein under his skin. His limbs jerked out of his control, muscles locking as hard as iron.

It felt like inhaling a lungful of freezing lake water.

Cold burrowed into his chest, poured down his arms and legs. Even his soul and mind seemed to grind between invisible millstones, pain flaying him raw.

H-how…

How had things gone so wrong, so fast? This was supposed to be his sure win.

Where had he misstepped?

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

All of it because Ethan had "temporarily" added a rule.

As his consciousness slipped away, Barty Jr screamed one last time in his heart.

Ethan Vincent, you monster!

"No!"

Fleur’s scream ripped across the water as she tried to bolt forward, only for her more clear-headed teammates to wrap their arms around her waist and hold her back.

She could only stare as her "sister" writhed inside the shroud of black mist.

Any doubts she had had were gone.

In Fleur Delacour’s proud eyes there was only panic and terror.

Their Black Egg had broken.

While everyone else was stunned by the Kraken and their captured relatives, Viktor Krum had acted.

With ruthless speed, he cast a Blasting Curse at the egg Fleur had only been pretending to cradle

It had shattered at once.

And from it had burst that horror.

"An Obscurus."

The soft, ethereal voice did not match the mood at all, yet every head turned.

Luna stood gazing up at the boiling dark cloud, pale face as tranquil as ever.

"When a young witch or wizard suppresses their magic, an Obscurus grows inside them," she said quietly. "It slowly devours their reason."

"If it is not treated gently, it does that."

She flicked her fingers outward.

"Bang. It explodes."

"Triggering an even bigger magical rampage."

A spell shot toward her in a streak of light.

It burst against a shield of blue magic with a boom, ripples spreading across the barrier.

"Stop standing there making comments!" Fleur panted, wand levelled, eyes wild as she glared at Luna. "My sister has turned into that. Ethan, why would you do this?"

Her voice rose to a ragged shout.

She threw her head back, eyes reddening, feeling horribly wronged.

Ethan, hovering above, did not so much as flinch.

As if his sense of human emotion were slightly off, he even smiled gently.

"I do not like spoilers," he said, "but I can make an exception."

"Do not worry, Miss Delacour. This is only on the surface."

"I promise you. Your real sister has not been harmed."

He deliberately leaned on the words "real sister," eyes narrowing in amusement.

Fleur Delacour’s real sister was, of course, completely unharmed.

She was fast asleep back in the castle.

The only one suffering was Barty Jr, who had come here to kill Ethan.

That was self‑defence. The Ministry would have to call it justice.

Ethan glanced at Barty, whose face was already darkened where the Obscurus gnawed at him.

Your plan was good, he thought.

Your only mistake was trusting the wrong person.

His smile sent an involuntary shiver through Fleur.

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head, dousing her fury and fear and leaving her abruptly clear.

"O‑okay," she muttered. "If you say so."

Belated embarrassment coloured her cheeks as she realised just how much of a scene she had made.

Damn it.

She had come here determined to wipe away the shame of last time and show Ethan how far she had come.

Somehow, her black history kept getting longer.

Poison. This whole place was poison.

A rush of water crashed down.

A shadow fell over them.

Cedric’s pupils shrank.

"Move!" he shouted.

A tentacle as thick as a tower smashed down.

The impact shook the air, the flexible limb slamming into the Glass Bridge and bouncing it high with a thunderous crack.

So strong.

Cedric clung to another pane, feeling the violent shudder run through it.

He could only marvel at the sheer force behind the blow and at the strength of Ethan’s bridge for holding.

If that had hit a person, they would be pulp.

He swallowed hard.

And Ethan could command something that powerful.

For the first time, Cedric felt, in his bones, the gulf between them.

It only stoked his drive to chase.

A wash of blue magic suddenly spilled over the Kraken, like a huge, gentle hand stroking its hide.

The massive creature paused.

Its thrashing eased.

"Now, Neville," came Luna’s cool voice from above.

She drifted down through the air, hair streaming, skin glowing with a soft white light.

She looked like a witch out of a storybook, one who only came on moonlit nights.

"Drip the Growth Potion on the vines," she called. "Let the plants do the work."

"Hurry. I cannot keep this up."

The last sentence finally jolted Neville back to himself.

He fumbled out the potion and yanked the stopper free.

He squeezed too hard.

Every last drop of green liquid splashed out.

The vines exploded.

Thick branches as stout as the Kraken’s own tentacles shot forward, coiling around the monster, wrapping its limbs, pinning it in place.

A furious, muffled roar bubbled out of the depths.

The Kraken, creature of the Founders, was not about to submit to some upstart plant.

In an instant, its forest of tentacles erupted into motion.

It let its captives drop and went berserk, tearing at the vines.

The two forces twisted and ground against each other with a bone‑creaking crunch.

"Father!"

Cedric shouted, whipping his wand up to catch his falling parent and tug him to safer ground. Only when Mr Diggory was well clear did his shoulders finally loosen.

All around, the others seized the chance of the monster’s distraction.

Neville, sobbing, wrestled the vines to haul his gran clear of the tangle, accidentally flipping her wig off in the process, then slipped and tumbled into the lake with a splash.

Krum’s Accio was flawless; he pulled his own relative in by the clothes, threading them through the flailing limbs.

Those who failed could only watch their loved ones vanish into the water, then dive after them, straight into merpeople territory.

But the worst of it was on Fleur’s side.

"Gabrielle?" Fleur’s voice shook as she stared at the figure staggering upright on the Glass Bridge.

The moment their eyes met, she knew.

That was not her sister.

Not because she saw through Barty’s disguise.

Because whatever wore that face now was not human at all, but the massed, terrible darkness she had seen explode from the Egg.

A guttural, inhuman cry ripped from the girl’s throat.

She flung out a hand.

A wave of raw, crushing magic hurled Fleur away.

It was like being hit by a charging rhino.

The impact slammed the breath from her; when she hit the bridge, she spat a mouthful of thick saliva.

She stared, stunned, at her "sister" bearing down on her, readying another strike.

Her knuckles whitened around her wand.

Her mind went blank.

She could not. She could not point her wand at her own sister.

Black power surged.

Fleur squeezed her eyes shut and braced for the pain.

It did not come.

There was only the rush of displaced air across her face.

She blinked.

A girl stood between her and the blast, golden hair flying like a banner.

Shards of blue magic drifted down around her.

Fleur stared.

She looked up at the blonde she had once dismissed.

Luna turned her head. The setting sun washed her cheek in soft light, but her expression was as steady as ever.

"Ordinary spells really do not stop an Obscurus," she said quietly.

Meeting Fleur’s dazed gaze, she let a small smile curve her mouth.

"Buy me a little time."

"Then I will show you what a real miracle of magic looks like."

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 426

Chapter 426: The Fidelius Charm, Tom’s Next Move

"James, what happened?"

Lily was no fool. She knew there had to be a serious reason for her husband to turn down Eleanor’s invitation.

"The prophecy about July. Do you remember it?" James asked, looking at her gravely.

"The one the Prophet mentioned a while back?" Lily said, thinking of the paper Eleanor had just brought her.

"It’s pointing far too clearly. In the whole Order, the only families with children born in July are us and the Longbottoms," James said, frowning.

"Do not worry. Dumbledore will have made arrangements," Lily said, brushing her knuckles lightly against the furrow between his brows.

"Yes. He will be here soon to lay down protective magic. We will have to stop going out for a while," James said, lacing his fingers through hers. They stood there, close and easy together.

"Oi. I am still here, you know," Sirius, the human lamp-post, said in protest.

"Maybe you should find someone of your own. Drifting about forever is not good for you," responsible adult Lupin said, sliding straight into the role of nagging parent.

"Do not just pick on me. What about you, Remus? Thought of finding a lady werewolf?" Sirius said, half joking.

He had not meant to hit a nerve, but Remus’ face shut down at once. An awkward silence fell.

"It is getting late. I had better go," Lupin said, rising and leaving in a hurry.

The others all traded looks, then turned as one to stare at Sirius.

"That might have been a bit much, Sirius," Peter ventured.

"Peter, you little…" Sirius hooked an arm around his neck, then sighed. "Fine. I will go and apologise."

"Good," Lily said, nodding.

Before long, someone knocked at the Potters’ door again. They opened it with care and found Dumbledore standing outside in the falling snow.

"Professor," James said at once, ushering him in.

"Ah, dreadful weather," Dumbledore said, shaking the snow from his beard.

Sirius and Peter both got to their feet to greet him.

"Well then, no time to waste. If I do not get back to the school soon, Minerva will have my head," Dumbledore said, pulling a rueful face.

"I am going to place the Fidelius Charm on the Potters’ ancestral home. That requires a Secret-Keeper," he said, looking between the three Marauders as he explained.

"Neither caster nor those being protected can serve as Secret-Keeper. So, who will you choose?"

"It is a shame the Potters’ old Secret-Keeping contract is lost. Otherwise, we could have kept it in the family," James said, scratching his head.

"Do not worry, mate. We can be your Secret-Keepers. Right, Peter?" Sirius said, clapping him hard on the back.

Peter flinched and mumbled something that might have been an agreement.

"I am going to start casting. Who is it to be?" Dumbledore asked, turning to James.

"Sirius will be the Secret-Keeper," James said at once.

He looked at his oldest friend and, without a flicker of doubt, put his home and family in his hands.

At that moment, a swell in the Sea of Collective Subconscious brushed across Sirius’s little island of thought, dropping a better idea into his mind.

"All right," Sirius said, nodding.

Dumbledore drew the Elder Wand and swept it in a broad arc. Magic surged out, wrapping the whole of the old Potter home and compressing every scrap of information about it into an orange sphere of light.

"Hide this secret well," Dumbledore said, handing the orb to Sirius.

Sirius took it and tucked it into his soul. Dumbledore, satisfied, took his leave.

As soon as he was gone, Sirius turned back, eyes bright.

"What do you say to making Peter the Secret-Keeper?" he said.

"What? I…I cannot," Peter protested at once.

"Not publicly. We can do the old vanishing-cabinet trick," Sirius said, flicking a look at James.

"You mean you stay on paper as the Secret-Keeper, draw the Death Eaters onto you, and we put the real secret in Peter?" Lily said, following his train of thought.

"Exactly. Clever as ever, Lily," Sirius said, snapping his fingers and pointing at her.

"All right," James said, without a second’s hesitation.

They had grown up together. He trusted Sirius with his life. So the three of them quietly shifted the Secret-Keeper from one friend to another.

Another little gear in the prophecy clicked into place. The great machine of fate began to turn.

……

Elsewhere, Tom from the future had launched a far larger search. Having come back to the past, there was only one person she truly wanted to erase: the Prewett who had caused her so much trouble.

"Idiots. You still have not found the Prewetts’ address? I already told you they are in Byberil village," she snapped.

"B–but, my Lady, we have combed the whole village. There is no sign of any wizard presence," one Death Eater said miserably.

"You dare question me?"

She spread her hand. Her shadow billowed out behind her. A black, gelatinous tendril studded with teeth rose from it, chewing as it dragged the protesting Death Eater down into the dark.

The others swallowed, too scared to make a sound.

"Perhaps I should go myself," Tom said, rubbing her chin as she stood.

A wand spat out of the seething shadow. She caught it, then Disapparated to Byberil.

Unfortunately for her, two Manipulators on the Visionary Pathway had already prepared a grand welcome.

The instant she stepped into Byberil, a massive alchemical array bloomed to life, covering the whole village. Channels like the traces of a circuit board lit outward from the centre.

Sigils so intricate that a single glance would set strange thoughts cascading through the mind rose into the sky. Under the command of a power greater than magic, the power of the mind, every event in the village fell under the two Manipulators’ control.

The gentle ambient magic of the air flared, turning into a searing, invisible fire. The atmosphere became a furnace, locking all that heat into a narrow space.

"Miss Tom Riddle. Long time no see," Arthursi said, stepping forward.

The woman in front of her had teamed up with another to plot against her family’s precious cabbage. A queen’s wrath had been building for a long time.

Now, with the array leveraging the blood of the world itself, magic, and backed by the overwhelming mental strength of two Visionary Pathway demigods, they would smelt reality and rewrite it.

Light burst from the earth. Under the suppressing pressure of the two Manipulators, not a ripple showed on the surface. As Tom’s projection died, Arthursi felt a faint tremor from the Protocol.

"Just what I was waiting for," she said with a cold snort.

The array roared up to full power. Light laced with pure intent to destroy speared toward the source of the disturbance.

Boom.

The explosion flattened a hill in an instant, but most of the force was shunted into the Sea of Consciousness, taken on by the Thirteenth Protocol lurking in the dark.

As the storm in the Sea of Consciousness faded, Arthursi and Lada began their search.

"Tch. She slipped away," Arthursi said through her teeth.

The killing aura spilling from her made the small, weak and very put-upon little cat edge hastily out of reach.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 345

Chapter 345: Revenge

"Has he gone completely mad? He actually let Dementors search the Hogwarts Express!" Ron shouted furiously. "And he did not even bother to warn us first."

"It was Scrimgeour. He definitely did it on purpose," Harry said, face dark.

"So it was him," Ron muttered, finally putting the voice together with the man. The shout from outside had been Scrimgeour’s.

"Why is he targeting us like this?" Hermione asked, unable to understand.

They had clashed with him before, yes, but that had been largely due to misunderstandings, things that could, in theory, have been cleared up. By this point, though, their relationship had deteriorated badly.

Even so, sending Dementors onto the Hogwarts Express was beyond anything they could accept.

Dementors were the guards of Azkaban, the prison’s wardens. Under normal circumstances, they were never allowed to leave. Back when Sirius Black had first escaped, sending them out to search had at least made some twisted kind of sense. But putting them on the school train, packed with children, was something else entirely. That was Auror work, not the work of Dementors.

Almost everyone on board was a student, many of them still very young. Did they really not care what kind of scars Dementors might leave on their minds?

"A lot of Scrimgeour’s behaviour can no longer be explained by normal logic," Dudley said quietly. "But the search itself must have been authorised by the Ministry. Otherwise he would not have been able to deploy Dementors at all."

"Professor Dumbledore agreed to this?" Ron said, incredulous.

"No. There is a good chance Professor Dumbledore did not know," Dudley said, shaking his head.

"But... how? I mean, Professor Dumbledore and Minister Fudge get on so well. With something like this, you would at least tell him, right?" Ron still could not wrap his head around it.

"Obviously, Professor Dumbledore’s relationship with the Ministry is not what it used to be," Harry said.

"And this might be Fudge’s way of reminding him not to overstep his authority," Dudley added.

Ron fell silent.

With his current level of experience, he simply could not grasp the tangled power struggles of the wizarding world.

Beside them, Professor Lupin stared at the four of them, stunned.

Were these really thirteen‑year‑old children?

The strength they had shown against the Dementors had shocked even him. He had noticed, in particular, that many of their spells had been cast with nothing more than a flick of the wand, skipping the incantation entirely, something many adult wizards could not manage.

Their conversation now astonished him even more. The way they picked apart the web of power and intrigue would have done credit to a seasoned politician. Even he found their reasoning convincing.

Bang.

A noise sounded from the connection between the carriages, and a group of wizards burst in.

At their head, of course, was Scrimgeour.

Dudley’s gaze settled on him, taking in the rage twisted across his face. He looked like a lion driven mad.

"You again," Scrimgeour snarled through clenched teeth when he saw Dudley.

He started forward, but before he could launch into another tirade, Professor Lupin stepped out of the compartment and planted himself between the four students and Scrimgeour.

"And you are?" Scrimgeour said coldly, looking him up and down.

"Remus Lupin. Newly appointed Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts," Lupin said, holding out a card.

Scrimgeour did not take it. His eyes flickered with a dangerous light as he sized Lupin up.

"Allowing Dementors into the carriages to conduct searches is hardly proper procedure, is it?" Lupin said, withdrawing the card.

"This search was authorised by the Ministry. You are in no position to question it. Stand aside," Scrimgeour said in a frosty voice.

Lupin did not move.

"We received no notice," he said. "Furthermore, those Dementors tried to attack the students on this train. Fighting back was entirely justified."

"If you intend to bring charges against my students, I will happily testify on their behalf."

"In addition, I have already informed Professor Dumbledore of what happened. I imagine he will be contacting Minister Fudge shortly."

"So for now, you would be better off leaving this carriage and checking on the condition of your Dementors, instead of standing here interrogating my students."

He did not yield an inch.

By now, many of the students had recovered enough from their collapse to poke their heads out and look around.

"That was horrible. I feel like I will never be happy again."

"I blacked out completely. What was that thing, attacking us on the train?"

"I am telling my mum. We were attacked on the train. This is too much."

"If my dad finds out I ran into something like that on the way to school, he is going to lose his mind."

Many of them came from old pure‑blood families. Some of their parents worked at the Ministry and held respectable positions there.

If this blew up, it would be very hard to contain. And from what everyone had just seen, the Dementors had gone far beyond a simple, orderly check for an escaped prisoner.

“Sir, those two Dementors are badly hurt. They cannot continue for the moment,” an Auror hurried up to Scrimgeour and reported.

"Fatally?" Scrimgeour asked at once, his expression shifting.

“No. Someone smashed their heads in with bare fists, but it doesn’t appear to be life‑threatening.”

"With bare fists?" Scrimgeour’s eyes narrowed.

That did not match the condition of the Dementor that had been killed earlier. That one had seemed to die under a burst of golden light.

"Dudley. You killed that Dementor in Surrey, did you not?" he said, glaring at him.

"Rufus, accusations are supposed to be backed by evidence," Dudley said coldly. "Is this how your office conducts its investigations? Just because we do not get along, you dump every bit of filth you can find on my head, even to the point of unleashing Dementors on the school train, letting them attack underage students?"

"You really have opened my eyes."

As he spoke, the mood in the carriage shifted. Everyone could see now that this was personal. Scrimgeour was abusing his position.

And while he talked, Dudley quietly stirred his Beyonder powers, nudging the thoughts of those around them, deepening their trust in his words and their doubt in Scrimgeour’s.

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 297

Chapter 297: The Family-Hunter Strikes! Barty Jr: Strange, Why Was I Chosen?

In the stands, the students stared in shock at the colossal creature.

Even at this distance, its sheer presence pressed down on them.

The thing rising from the lake might as well have been a mountain. Its massive tentacles churned thousands of tons of water with casual sweeps, and a rank, briny stench spread across the shore.

The merpeople who had been prowling angrily near the surface all vanished into deeper water.

"Galloping Gorgons… what is that?" Lee Jordan’s voice shook, giving words to everyone’s thoughts.

"There have always been rumours of a great monster in the Black Lake… but who knew it was something out of legend like this?"

The impact was easily on par with the black dragon.

"It was that that hauled me out!" Dennis Creevey shouted, pointing at the Kraken, practically vibrating with excitement.

He and his brother Colin both had their cameras out, shutters clicking nonstop.

At the start of the term, Dennis had fallen into the lake by accident.

A tentacle had scooped him up and dropped him safely back in the boat.

"So it is not Ethan’s art piece," Harry said slowly.

Hermione nodded. "No. Giant squids really do exist. The books do not say they get this big, though."

It had probably been here since the school was founded, a millennium ago.

A pet of the Four Founders, bound to protect the school.

That was why it had not dragged Dennis under and eaten him, but lifted him out instead.

No student or teacher had ever been able to command it. Not even Hagrid.

Judging by the way Hagrid looked ready to fling himself into the lake just for a chance to be picked up, that much was obvious.

"But Ethan managed it," Hermione whispered, eyes blazing.

"He found a way to make the giant squid show itself and help run the task."

Ethan’s word carried weight on par with the Founders’.

Hermione flushed hot with excitement. "Amazing. It is too amazing."

"If only I could catch up to that kind of blazing light, and stand beside him…"

Harry and Ron looked at one another.

They both swallowed back the urge to say that in Hermione’s mind, that "blazing light" was one good flare away from burning everyone else to a crisp.

Out on the lake, the champions facing the monster for real were not nearly so impressed.

"We thought the second task might be easier without a dragon," a Durmstrang champion shouted hoarsely. "This is worse!"

A giant squid above, merpeople below.

Ethan, I am checking your family tree when this is over.

And the Ministry officials. Who had authorised this?

"Achoo!"

Down on the organiser’s platform, Ludo Bagman sneezed, then clutched his head in despair.

The glory of the Bagman family was clearly going to end with him.

It was not that he did not want to stop Ethan.

He simply could not.

The boy was the new star of the Ministry. No one wanted to be the one to say no.

Minister Fudge, please come back.

While everyone was still reeling from Hogwarts "pulling the boss," Fleur suddenly screamed and pointed at the Kraken.

"T‑that is my sister!"

"It has my sister!"

The Kraken’s tentacles were wrapped around several limp figures.

Mr Diggory. Mr Lovegood.

Even relatives from overseas, dragged here from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

A proper kin‑hunter.

Very much in line with Ethan’s inhuman style.

"Father…"

Cedric’s pupils shrank as he stared at the round, familiar figure.

Beside him, Neville all but folded in half, howling, "Gran!"

Krum’s brows drew together.

The more he looked, the more familiar this setup felt.

This was what Death Eaters did.

Only this time it was all above board, in front of the Ministry and three Headmasters.

He had taken the champions’ families hostage in full public view, something no Dark Lord had ever managed.

"Kudos," Krum muttered. "Ethan, you are not to be underestimated."

"One third of the time has already passed."

Ethan’s clear voice, ringing like spring water over stone, floated down from the sky.

He stood casually on the invisible Glass Bridge, looking down at them with bright blue eyes.

In his hand, the rose under glass had already shed several petals.

"Time…" Fleur whispered, horror in her eyes. "When time is up, you will never see your loved ones again."

Reason said Ethan would not truly kill anyone.

Instinct said this newborn sun just might.

"Our goal is not to kill the monster any more," Fleur shouted. "We have to save them, quickly!"

She looked desperately toward her sister.

Then stopped.

"Eh?"

She frowned and peered more closely.

Something felt wrong.

In the Kraken’s grip, the "sister" in the Beauxbatons robes had the faintest curl at the corner of her mouth.

A strange, wicked little smile tugged at that childlike face.

That was not Fleur’s sister at all.

It was Barty Crouch Junior under Polyjuice.

Pretending to be unconscious, letting the Kraken "capture" him.

He had slipped into the heart of the task.

Waiting for his chance to kill Ethan.

It was a risky gambit.

One misstep and everything would fall apart.

Even Barty Jr. had not expected it to go this smoothly.

"It is all thanks to Mr Lamp," he thought, exhilarated.

"If not for his help, I would never have infiltrated this easily."

To meddle with security this tight, in a task this closely watched, as if he were running the event himself.

Astounding.

"This time I will not fail Mr Lamp or the Dark Lord," he vowed. "I will kill Ethan."

"All it will take is one Avada Kedavra."

He ground his back teeth.

He knew the entire flow of the task now. There was no way to lose.

"Ah!"

"Damn it! You lot are attacking us?"

"The Black Egg is broken!"

The panicked shouts snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Black Egg?" he muttered, frowning.

What was that?

Bagman had not mentioned anything about it.

The unfamiliar word scraped across his nerves.

A bad feeling crawled up his spine.

A heartbeat later, it proved right.

There was a tiny, sharp crack.

Boom.

Power exploded.

The blast almost peeled the skin off his face.

Barty Jr. jerked, eyes bulging.

On the Beauxbatons’ side of the lake, the girls were shouting in anger and fear.

Beside them, something surged up.

Black mist billowed skyward, dense and choking.

Like a hundred Dementors spilling from a single point, it poured out and spread, hanging over the champions’ heads and dimming the very light from the sky.

The dark water turned darker still.

A screech tore out of the cloud, inhuman and shrill.

The champions clapped their hands over their ears, faces twisting. It was like claws raking glass, a sound that scraped straight down to the bone.

"What is that?" Barty Jr. choked.

He stared, stunned.

Bagman had never said there would be any monster besides the Kraken.

Had Ethan added this too?

Why?

Well. He was the chief architect of the task, and the Ministry’s hand‑picked "new saviour."

He did have the right to do as he pleased.

"It is fine," Barty Jr. told himself, swallowing, forcing his panic back down.

"That thing cannot touch me. The more chaos, the better my chances. It is good for me."

The words had barely formed in his head when the black mist twisted.

And rushed straight at him.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 454

Chapter 454: February

At the centre of the newly drawn life‑alchemy array sat a pot containing a completely withered plant. All around it, faint green flames rose continually from the runes, licking at the materials set within the circle. The fire burned them down and drew out their essences, which, under the effect of Life Alchemy, fused together and condensed into drops of pale green life essence tinged with a thread of gold. Each drop fell onto the dead plant at the heart of the circle.

Antonis and Nico watched the light‑green liquid with its faint golden sheen, both of them unable to hide the anticipation in their eyes. Time had turned to February, and Sean had finally made a new breakthrough in Life Alchemy.

The last drop of essence sank into the shrivelled plant. As the life‑alchemy array faded away, the once‑dead thing suddenly stirred with a breath of life. Tender buds began to push out from the withered stems. Roots and stalks thickened with fresh vitality and continued to grow. The buds opened into branches, the branches into leaves and flowers.

This was the most critical moment.

Sean, Antonis and Nico watched the pot with utmost seriousness, waiting until the plant had stabilised completely and showed not the slightest flaw. Only then did they all let out a long breath. On the faces of the two men—and the one alchemical ghost—appeared matching expressions of elation.

It had worked.

“Finally, a new breakthrough,” Sean said softly. “Life Alchemy really has entered a new stage.”

Antonis nodded with a smile. “That is right. Once you conquer the last two remaining problems, you will have truly mastered Life Alchemy. When that happens, I will have no regrets left.”

At those words, something complicated flickered in Sean’s eyes, but he did not let Antonis see it. Instead, he smiled at his teacher.

“All that is left is to write up the paper,” he said. “The editorial office of The Philosopher’s Stone is in France, backed by the French Alchemical Association. I will not have to worry about the paper being blocked for some ridiculous political reason. Once it is done, I will submit it to them.”

“Good,” Antonis said. “Remember to bring me a copy when it is finished.”

“Of course, Teacher.”

The words had barely left his mouth when Antonis suddenly rose, walked out of the classroom and vanished from Sean and Nico’s sight.

Sean took out his pure‑white pocket watch and checked the time. It was still three minutes to nine. The time Antonis could linger at Hogwarts—or rather, in the living world—was shrinking.

“You noticed?” Nico asked.

Sean looked over and nodded. “Teacher Nico… Teacher Antonis…”

“As his attachments are gradually satisfied, the time Antonis can remain in the mortal world will grow shorter,” Nico explained. “You can rest easy, though. The change is still very slight, the time lost very small. Until you truly complete Life Alchemy, the hours he can stay will not be reduced by much.”

Sean drew in a deep breath, nodded once more, and said nothing.

Nico, on the other hand, smiled with faint relief.

“I thought,” he said, “that you might say you would slow your work on Life Alchemy, just to keep Antonis here a little longer.”

Sean shook his head.

“I know very well that remaining in the living world is a torment for Teacher Antonis,” he said. “I will not deliberately accelerate my research, but I will not hold it back on purpose either.”

“Reason is a wizard’s greatest wealth,” Nico said. “You clearly possess it.”

“But being too rational is not always a good thing for a person,” Sean replied quietly.

“So long as you walk the right path, and do the right things,” Nico said, “that is enough.”

The old man and the young, together with the alchemical construct that currently represented the pinnacle of their craft, left the classroom side by side.

Dumbledore might have left Hogwarts, but before he did, he had granted Nico enough authority to move freely through the castle.

For the greatest living alchemist in the world, slipping through Hogwarts unnoticed was trivially easy. All the more so given that Borel and his ilk did not even have the authority to enter the Headmaster’s office yet. If they wanted to make a move against Nico, they would first have to manage the minor feat of locating him.

Lisa pushed Nico’s wheelchair back to his quarters. Sean, however, did not return to the Slytherin common room. Instead, he headed straight for the fourth‑floor bathroom.

A brief search was enough. Just as he had expected, he found the Vanishing Cabinet stored there.

Standing before it, Sean flicked his wand to seal off the abandoned bathroom. Then he took out a selection of tools and materials and began inscribing alchemical arrays on the surface of the cabinet, arrays designed to monitor anyone who approached it.

Once he was satisfied with his work, he slipped silently out of the ruined bathroom. With the help of his level‑5, max‑rank Disillusionment Charm, no one in Hogwarts had any chance of finding him.

As he passed a staircase, Sean suddenly felt someone under a Disillusionment Charm brush by him.

With his mastery at level five, Sean’s sensitivity to that spell was extraordinary. The instant he felt its presence, he thought for a heartbeat, then followed. The trail led him straight to the Room of Requirement.

He stopped there and waited quietly.

It was not long before Hermione and Neville appeared outside the Room of Requirement. Moments later, more people came hurrying down the corridor: some Gryffindors, some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, even Luna, and—

Blaise and Jensen?

What in Merlin’s name?

Since when were those two running around with Hermione’s lot?

Those idiots…

Sean was surprised to see Blaise and Jensen mixed in with them, but he felt no particular concern. In fact, he thought it might be a good thing.

After the training he had put them through over the holidays, it was only natural for Blaise and Jensen to fall in with Hermione and the others.

He did not reveal himself or go over to say hello. Instead, he turned and left.

The next morning, when he saw Blaise and Jensen sitting at breakfast as if nothing had happened, Sean could not be bothered to call them out.

Just then, Filch limped into the entrance hall, dragging his little bucket and a fresh notice. He pinned it up, another new rule from the Ministry—or rather, from Umbridge.

In brief, it informed the students of Hogwarts that if they knew of anyone breaking school rules by organising or joining certain illegal groups in private, they could report directly to Borel Bulstrode, Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, or to any member of the Slytherin Brotherhood’s reserve organisation. If the report proved to be accurate, the informant would receive an appropriate reward.

As for who this notice was aimed at, that needed no explanation at all.

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 296

Chapter 296: Second Boss Appears! Giant Squid – Kraken!!!

"Ah! Too much!"

Neville yelped, eyes wide, his face twisting in alarm.

Up in the stands, students muttered in confusion.

"What is he doing?"

"Merlin, the other teams are already halfway out!"

"Hurry up! Just use a Revealing Charm or a Freezing Charm—huh?!"

A cry tore through the noise.

A flash of violent green exploded into view.

Enormous vines burst out of the ground, surging from the soil and racing toward the lake at impossible speed.

A mutated Devil’s Snare.

"Grab a leaf! Grab a leaf!" Neville shouted as the main stem shot out over the water, his voice whipping away with it.

Cedric did not need telling. He caught hold of a broad leaf and whooped as it hauled him forward.

Luna settled herself onto a thick leaf that curled up politely to carry her and floated serenely toward the centre of the lake.

Like a golden spear cast from the sky, the thick rope of twisted vines spanned the lake, vaulting straight past the two teams inching their way along the invisible bridge.

In a blink, it had reached the middle of the lake.

Krum, Fleur, and the others stared, stunned.

"Did they just turn on cheats?" a Durmstrang champion muttered, slack‑jawed.

If the Glass Bridge was too hard to walk, they wouldn’t walk it.

They’d grow a plant thick and tough enough to carry them across.

All that time on shore had been spent finding the perfect spot to let it take root.

"Oh," Ethan said softly from his vantage point above, eyebrows lifting.

"That is a new way to clear the stage. Even I did not think of it."

He smiled, genuinely pleased.

"No wonder they are all members of my Morning Star Club, and champions chosen by the Goblet."

His gaze slid to Neville, still screaming as the over‑fertilised vine roared out of control.

Who would have thought that Gryffindor’s supposed deadweight, who "could not do anything," would wield that kind of power?

"Magic is not just spells. Herbology, Alchemy, Potions, even painting can all become unique strengths," Ethan murmured.

Just as people should not be boxed in by a House crest.

Even a tearful little Gryffindor might one day raise a sword against evil.

And a model Ravenclaw student could devote himself to the Dark Arts.

That one was Quirrell, obviously.

"Hehe. Jaws are going to hit the floor," Ethan said, eyes curving.

"And the main act is still to come."

In the stands, even the Hogwarts students were struck dumb.

"Holy hell," Ron breathed.

His mouth hung open wide enough to swallow an orange. "I have never seen a plant that big. It could poke a hole straight through Merlin’s floorboards."

What had looked like a doomed line‑up had just blasted into the lead.

Ron watched Neville clinging to the vine, feelings churning.

It was like all his mates had traded up to sleek new brooms while he was still pedalling a two‑wheeler.

On the Ravenclaw side, Mandy pushed up her glasses again, looking as smug as if she had planned it herself. "Told you."

"There are no weaklings in Ethan’s Morning Star Club."

"Even a so‑called dud can shine."

This was their Ravenclaw leader, Ethan Vincent, working miracles.

The brief silence was shattered.

A roar of astonished cheers crashed around the stands.

"Incredible! Absolutely incredible!"

Lee Jordan had climbed onto the commentary table, eyes blazing, bouncing on the spot, clutching his microphone like he might hurl himself into the arena at any moment.

"Neville Longbottom has used a completely unprecedented plant to cross most of the Black Lake in one move!"

"While Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are still picking their way back and forth along the Glass Bridge—"

"Hogwarts has overtaken them!"

"Neville, you legend!"

Not even Professor McGonagall was in the mood to scold his language.

Professor Sprout wiped at the corners of her reddened eyes.

"Ethan was the one who found him," she said thickly. "Before that, who would have backed ideas that sounded that wild?"

Even she had thought all that talk of "mutation" and "hybridisation" was far‑fetched at first, something that could not possibly work.

Yet Neville had made it real.

At the judges’ table, the panel exchanged looks.

In each other’s eyes they saw the same surprise and approval, and several bent over their parchments to make more notes.

"I heard all three of Hogwarts’ champions this time are from Mr Vincent’s club. Morning Star, was it?"

"Rumour says he has been putting them through secret training."

"Judging by this, there is something to it."

Out on the lake, Neville finally managed to wriggle free of the leaves and branches.

The shouts crashing over from the shore reached him at last.

He froze.

"Hear that?" Cedric said with a grin. "That is all for you."

"F‑for me…?" Neville stammered.

"Of course. Who else thought to use plants?" Cedric said. "And even if they had, none of them could have grown anything like this."

"This was your work."

Neville stared at him.

No one had ever really praised him before.

As a child, his family had worried he might be a Squib.

Even after the Hat sent him to Gryffindor, House of Courage, he had always felt like the odd one out.

Over time, he had started to believe it himself: that he was useless.

Then, on a "nothing to lose" whim, he had taken Ethan’s entrance test for the Morning Star Club.

Somehow, he had passed.

And life had never been the same.

Now, with the roar of the crowd washing over him, Neville ducked his head as his nose prickled.

Heat flushed up his neck, into the tips of his ears.

"I will not waste what Ethan has done for me," he said hoarsely, scrubbing at his eyes.

For once, his usually wandering gaze was steady.

He turned to Cedric and Luna, cheeks burning. "Let us… let us win this together."

"Show the other schools what Hogwarts can do—and what the Morning Star Club can do."

Cedric flashed a wide grin. "That is the spirit—hmm?"

He broke off, frowning, and looked down.

The lake, smooth a moment before, had begun to heave.

A deep rumble rose, like a giant stirring a cauldron with a shovel the size of a tree.

Waves piled over one another, drawing inward.

A vast whirlpool formed, dragging everything toward its centre.

The pull was so strong that a Beauxbatons champion missed her footing and toppled into the water. There was a short, sharp scream, and then the pale arm reaching up vanished, dragged under by the churning currents.

"Shield! Now!" Fleur shouted, eyes wide.

She stared, horrified, at the monstrous vortex.

One thought beat in her skull.

The monster is here.

"The monster has come," Krum growled, knuckles white around his wand.

All eyes were fixed on the boiling centre of the lake.

With a great crashing splash, something surged up.

A single tentacle.

Pale grey underneath, ink‑black on top, thick and supple, lined with round, fleshy suckers.

A squid’s limb.

Just far, far too big.

That one tentacle alone was several dozen metres long. One sucker was almost as big as a person.

The lake roared.

Water poured off a mass rising from the depths like a moving cliff.

A huge, domed head. Yellow eyes with no clear pupil. A forest of curling tentacles coiling and uncoiling like the judgment of the end of the world.

The second task’s monster.

The giant squid Kraken.

Rita Skeeter’s Quick‑Quotes Quill slipped from her numb fingers and clattered to the floor.

She did not even notice.

So there was something as shocking as a dragon after all.

High above, Ethan looked down on the panicked splashes, the cries, the chaos, and smiled.

"The real show," he said softly, "is only just beginning."

HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 301

Chapter 301: Get the Intel for Free First

[Sothia?]

In the middle of the pasture, Evans frowned down at the pale blue sigil still blinking on his forearm.

A moment ago, the mark had flared and rearranged itself into a line of text that flickered briefly, then vanished. Since then there had been no further response.

The content of that brief message left him vaguely uneasy.

[Talk later – we need to run for our lives first? What did you run into?]

He glanced sideways at the Hufflepuff lady beside him, making sure she did not look impatient at being kept waiting, then returned his attention to his arm.

By rights, that Great Lake ought to conceal some kind of danger. The last time the Chimaera had gone there, it had been hit by a weakness curse strong enough to lay it low.

But from the way the creature had described things, there should not have been any solid, physical threat in the lake itself.

Thankfully, the mark lit up again before long, the glowing strokes drawing out a neat, flowing hand.

[All good! A whole swarm of giant mosquitoes suddenly came out of the lake, but I’ve already legged it with the Chimaera!]

Evans let out a quiet breath of relief and wrote back:

[What exactly happened?]

On the other end, the girl took a moment to compose her thoughts, gave a brief account of events, then added, in a script practically vibrating with confidence:

[Once I’m sure it’s safe over here, I’ll bring the big guy back. Those mosquitoes showed up way too fast – their nest has to be close by. All I need to do is return to the area and have a proper look around. I’m bound to find it!]

[Once I do, I’ll just pump a wave of steam into the place. I guarantee however many there are, that’s how many will die!]

Reading the sheer confidence in her words, Evans felt a sudden, ominous twinge.

A thought struck him, and he wrote back, a little tightly:

[You said the water didn’t answer you just now, right? What about the plants? Can the plants around you respond to your call?]

[Nothing from them either. Why?]

[Then… can you still find your way back to where you were?]

From what he knew of Sothia, as a Spring Nymph she had been able, from birth, to instinctively receive guidance from streams and plants. Waterways and greenery would show her the way forward and keep her moving in the right direction.

Put simply, she had no sense of direction whatsoever. Without water and plants to help, she was hopelessly lost.

He had learned this the hard way the first time he took her to a Muggle street in Paris.

It was one street and a couple of alleys. She had still managed to walk in circles. Evans did not even want to imagine what would happen if you dropped her into a completely unfamiliar forest with neither running water nor responsive vegetation. She could wander into anything.

Still… perhaps it did not really matter.

Where she was now was not the same place they had been standing before. She had almost certainly been dragged into a space similar to the one he was currently in. If she blundered around for long enough, she might just stumble back out by accident.

And even if she did not, with her talent for running away, she ought to manage.

This was the same Sothia who had spent years playing cat‑and‑mouse in a single lake with a water monster the entire French Ministry had failed to get under control. When it came to fleeing for her life, no one could match her.

Shaking his head, Evans exchanged a few more quick lines with her to make sure she really was fine, then lifted his gaze back to the old woman in front of him.

When he had first asked if he could say a few words to his friends outside, the Hufflepuff lady had simply smiled and nodded, then turned to look out over the pasture as if admiring the view.

Partway through his conversation with Sothia, however, her expression had slowly gone blank.

It was like watching a machine drop into standby mode after losing its task. Her face had frozen. Even her eyes had gone dull.

She had warned him she was only a lingering echo from long ago. Even so, this state did not feel quite right.

Some kind of power‑saving mode? He had never heard of active magic having a "low‑energy" setting. That was not how any of this was supposed to work.

And the timing was strange. She seemed to have slipped into that vacant state right around when Sothia mentioned danger.

Frowning slightly, Evans waved a hand in front of her. When she showed no reaction, he tried calling out.

"Lady Hufflepuff?"

Several seconds passed before the old woman twitched, as though only just remembering where she was. The kindly smile returned to her stiff features.

"Your Spring Nymph friend is unharmed?" she asked gently.

"Yes. She should be fine. Can you… see what’s happening outside?"

Evans was sure he had never specified that the friend he’d left outside was a Spring Nymph. He had only learned Sothia had run into trouble when she explained it herself. So why was this Hufflepuff lady asking that particular question?

"No, I cannot," the old woman said easily, shaking her head. "When I said I sensed four wizards, that did not mean we were unaware there was a Spring Nymph and a Chimaera beside you."

Her expression turned faintly wistful.

"A Spring Nymph… I searched for a long time in my day and never managed to find a single specimen."

Then her eyes brightened with interest.

"Would you tell me about their habits? I would very much like to know."

"I don’t mind. But… how long can this place hold together if we stand around chatting?"

Evans could not help but ask.

If what he had seen earlier really had been some kind of magical standby mode, how long could this space sustain them while they idled?

"Ah. Yes. Quite right. We still have business to attend to. I must pass on what I know."

A flicker of understanding crossed her face at his reminder. She turned back around. The smile she wore was as gentle as ever, but Evans could not shake the feeling that there was something stiff about it now.

Her movements, too, seemed slower than before. Her speech faltered now and again, as though the words were catching on something.

Since when did magic stutter?

He had certainly never heard of it.

Apart from those glitches, however, what she described was more than enough to hold his attention.

"I imagine you have already heard a little about Morgana," she began. "You should at least know that it was by her hand that dark magic was turned into an art of curses and death."

"Merlin will have left plenty of tales about her to give his inheritors a basic understanding of what they may face."

"But there is knowledge that cannot be recorded in any other way. That era has been sealed away. Some things cannot even be spoken of in the real world. Only by creating an entirely separate space, as we have done here, can we preserve them at all."

"For example: how magic was reshaped into what it has become now."

Evans straightened slightly, folding his arms, ready to listen.

"Please," he said.

Whatever was going on with this remnant of Hufflepuff, the knowledge she carried was far too tempting to ignore.

Everything else could wait.

First, he was going to strip this place of every scrap of information it would give him.

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 295

Chapter 295: New Card: "Reverse-Hatching Egg"! Neville’s Mutated Devil’s Snare

[Name: "Reverse-Hatching Egg"]

[Tier: Tier Three, Blue Rare]

[Description: Like an insect sealed in amber, death gestating within a living body forms the Reverse-Hatching Egg.]

[Effect: When the shell is broken, a surge of powerful dark energy erupts, attacking everything nearby without distinction and actively seeking out weak living hosts to parasitise.]

[Evaluation: Dumbledore Bane.]

"I do not remember anything like this in the task proposal. Did Ethan add it on his own?"

Under the stormy glares of the Headmasters, Ludo Bagman flipped frantically through his sheaf of parchments, sweat pouring down his temples. His whole career path lately seemed to have Ethan’s name stamped all over it.

"When Mad‑Eye came to ask me about the task details, there was no Black Egg in it," he muttered.

He did not think much of it. Mad‑Eye probably asked out of habit. It was not as if he actually meant to stir trouble.

If he did, that would be his own bad luck.

Then Ludo caught sight of the expression on the greatest white wizard of the age.

He blinked, startled. "Are you all right, Professor?"

For once, Dumbledore’s usually serene, smiling face was full of shock and grief.

His old eyes fixed on Ethan in the distance as if someone had driven a spike straight through his heart.

"Ah. I am fine, Mr Bagman," Dumbledore said at last.

But his gaze remained locked on the black egg pulsing with a power he knew too well.

His withered fingers clenched in his robes.

An Obscurus.

The same monster that had devoured his sister.​

Did Ethan know something? Why this, and why now?

No. Perhaps it was only coincidence.

Dumbledore shook his head and forced the thought down.

"I am getting old," he murmured. "It is nearly time to hand the new age over to extraordinary young people."

Following his line of sight, Bagman saw Ethan down on the shore, grinning in his usual unnerving way.

His face drained of colour. "You… you want to hand the world to the Dark Lord?"

Dumbledore stared at him.

"Do stop talking. The task is about to begin."

"Y‑yes, sir."

On the lakefront, Ethan passed the Obscurus eggs to the three teams.

Under the mix of nerves and battle‑fire in their eyes, he smiled.

With a casual wave, he conjured a blood‑red rose under a glass dome.

"Remember," he said slowly, "when the last petal falls, you will never see your loved one again."

"What have you done with my sister?" Fleur burst out.

"Shh."

Ethan raised a finger to his lips, that sly, unarguable smile cutting her off.

Fleur bit down on her lower lip, furious and helpless.

Ethan lifted his cane; it flowed into a wand and swung up to point at the sky.

His voice, carried clear by the speaking flower pinned to his collar, rang across the arena.

"As always, any champion who defeats the monster wins the right to challenge me."

"By that, I declare the second task of the Triwizard Tournament… officially begun."

"Egg Protection Squad, move out."

His spell burst overhead in a flower of coloured sparks.

The champions, who had been coiled like springs, staggered slightly at the absurd name, black lines practically etching themselves onto their foreheads.

Did he have to make their grand, noble trial sound like a pack‑mule delivery job?

Whatever the name, with a time limit and a Black Egg that would explode on the spot if broken, the second task had suddenly become far harsher, with competition sharpened on every side.

And none of them yet knew what kind of "monster" awaited them at the centre of the lake.

Krum stared out over the vast expanse of water.

Plenty of room out there for something very, very big.

Cedric Diggory spoke first. "I suggest we do not attack each other at the start."

His strong, even features made him look every inch the heroic lead straight off a Chocolate Frog card.

The other champions, all prickling with suspicion, found themselves looking his way.

"Right now, we need to find the correct path across the Glass Bridge and reach the middle," Cedric said. "If we start fighting here, none of us will make it."

"And remember, Ethan said, if a Black Egg breaks, it attacks everything. That will be trouble for all of us."

Calm, ordered, confident.

Neville gazed at Cedric in open worship. It was as if the older boy glowed.

Wait.

He really was glowing.

Neville squinted.

Cedric was very discreetly casting Lumos on himself.

Neville swallowed a laugh.

Well. Even heroes were practical.

Fleur’s team conferred briefly, then nodded agreement.

On the Durmstrang side, Krum simply grunted, "Fine. We do it that way. No wasting time," and the matter was settled.

He strode to the edge of the jetty, raised his wand, and called, "Aparecium!"

A fog of magic swept over the water, tracing faint, translucent lines.

It worked.

Krum’s eyes flashed.

A moment later the magic faded and the ghost‑trails of the bridge vanished.

"You two take turns casting the Revealing Charm," he told his teammates. "We run it all the way in."

"Got it."

Up in the stands, students leaned forward, nerves humming, voices hoarse from cheering.

"We can see the Durmstrang team doing what they do best—reckle—er, boldly taking the lead," Lee Jordan announced, wilting under Professor McGonagall’s glare and hastily correcting himself.

"They are spamming Aparecium, nice and direct!"

"Oh! Beauxbatons are on the move too!"

Down on the shore, Fleur and her teammates swept their wands together. Streams of icy magic sprayed from their tips, frosting the invisible bridge and outlining a narrow path in white.

"They are using a Freezing Charm," Lee said. "Very clever. The range is smaller than Aparecium, but it lasts much longer. No wonder they are called 'ice‑bright and snow‑smart'—"

"Enough. That was freezing," someone groaned.

"I think I just caught a cold."

"Get off and let the Weasley twins handle this!"

Snowballs began to fly.

Dodging wildly and still clinging to the microphone, Lee yelled, "Both teams are on the move! Only Hogwarts is left! What are you waiting for?"

He was not the only one tearing his hair out.

With the other two teams already halfway to the first bend, Hogwarts’ three champions were still standing on the shore, making no move to jump in like last time.

Ron was sweating. "They are killing me."

He had not been convinced by this line‑up to begin with.

Now they were proving him right.

Not everyone agreed.

Mandy from Ravenclaw pushed up his glasses. "The first task had nothing but hot‑blooded Gryffindors. Now we have Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw."

"Of course, they will use different tactics."

"I have a feeling they are going to pull ahead."

"Is that the feeling of a top student?" Michael asked with a grin.

She shot him a scathing look. "It is the confidence of three members of Ethan’s Morning Star Club."

Meanwhile, on the much‑discussed shore, Neville clutched a handful of seeds, nerves jangling.

"A‑are you sure about this? It is a new strain. It is not stable yet…"

"Relax. You have us," Cedric said, clapping him so hard on the back that Neville’s lungs nearly came out.

Luna nodded, calm as ever.

"O‑okay. I will do it."

Neville swallowed hard.

He crouched by the lakeside, pressed the seeds into the soil, and drew a small rubber dropper of vivid green liquid from his pocket.

Very carefully, he squeezed two drops onto the earth.

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 294

Chapter 294: Egg Protection Squad?! Dumbledore’s Most Shaken Episode Yet

The shore of the Black Lake seethed with people.

For a place rumoured to harbour a giant squid, the usually placid water had never seen such bustle.

A skin of frost glazed the dark surface, and the knife‑cold wind sent ripple after ripple racing across it.

Madame Maxime was moving down the line of Beauxbatons students, layering Warming Charms on her shivering champions. Every so often she glanced over at the solid, fur‑clad Durmstrang lads and muttered about "unfairness" and "extra points."

Then her gaze slid to the Hogwarts group.

To the "blonde elf" who was a full size smaller than everyone else.

She went silent, eyes widening. "Hogwarts really is sending that little girl in? She looks like a stiff breeze would knock her over."

Fleur gave a proud little hum through her finely sculpted nose and shot a sideways look at Luna, who stood quietly at the edge of the group.

Her fingers, knuckles red from the cold, clenched tighter around her wand.

This was not just a contest between schools.

It was a battle with Ethan Vincent.

"Since you chose that girl," Fleur murmured, "I will see just what she can do."

She said it, but in her heart she had no intention of losing.

Her mind had already begun to wander ahead, picturing herself "abducting" Ethan back to sun‑soaked, soft‑weathered France.

Living happily ever after.

"Hehe… hehe…"

Her lips curled into a grin, a strange blush colouring her cheeks under her Headmistress’s dubious stare.

Come to think of it, she had not seen her little sister all morning.

She was probably off playing somewhere.

This was Hogwarts, after all, supposedly the safest place in Britain. Nothing could possibly happen.

Beauxbatons were not the only ones doubting Hogwarts’ choices.

Even Hogwarts’ own students were stunned.

Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had stuck with their aces: Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour.

Hogwarts, on the other hand, had thrown them all a curve.

Cedric Diggory. Neville Longbottom. Luna Lovegood.

Was this some kind of mass elimination attempt?

Cedric at least was well known in Hufflepuff.

But Neville and Luna?

"Why not send Harry?" someone demanded. "Or the Weasley twins, even!"

After the First Task, the twins had proved they could do more than make trouble.

"We’re doomed. Neville’s the most famous coward in Gryffindor, and Luna’s always off in her own world."

"This is a full freak squad."

"Winning is secondary at this point. Just do not let Hogwarts lose face."

The noise swelled.

Doubt and complaint crashed over them.

Neville, already near panic, shook even harder, face drained.

"Ignore them," Luna said quietly, voice as calm as still water. "Just do your part."

"I‑I, I—" Neville stammered.

Luna turned her head. Her blue eyes seemed to look straight through him.

He flinched.

"You do not want to disappoint Ethan, do you?" she asked, spacing each word.

Neville’s trembling stopped.

A few seconds ticked by.

Then his habitual hunch straightened, vertebra by vertebra. His mouth firmed. Sweat shone on his round face, but a new resolve burned there.

"I will not let Ethan down," he said, voice shaking but sure.

The words of a future Herbology master and Gryffindor’s sword‑wielding hero quivered in the cold air.

"Good," Luna said, eyes curving.

She lifted her head and met the sceptical stares around them.

"Night does not have to explain why it exists," she said softly. "When it falls, everyone understands."

On the other side of the stands, Rita Skeeter was already drilling holes in the arena with her stare.

The quill in her hand scratched furiously, even before the task had begun.

"A Disappointing Second Task", "Empty Hype", "The Secret Deal Between Hogwarts, Ethan Vincent, and the Ministry"… perfect.

She licked her painted lips, admiring the words.

Each one was calculated to spark outrage.

No matter what Ethan did, he could not top a dragon.

News had a shelf life.

Those who wrote in advance owned the front page.

"My, my. Looks like the headline is mine again," she purred.

This time, her work would not go in the bin.

Hopes, grudges, schemes—all of it flowed together into the ancient waters of the Black Lake, stirring centuries of silt.

A low horn sounded, deep as the lakebed.

The crowd quieted, turning to the black‑haired boy at the front.

They watched him step off the jetty.

And keep going.

On nothing at all.

Students gaped.

Several professors blinked.

Tap, tap.

Ethan rapped the ground beneath his feet with his gold‑tipped cane, the sound ringing clear.

As if on glass.

"Welcome to the second task of the Triwizard Tournament," he said, spreading his arms and looking down with bright delight on the sea of faces.

"The rules are simple."

"Within the allotted time, you must cross the Glass Bridge over the Black Lake, reach the centre, defeat the great beast, and rescue your family member."

The crowd: …

Bridge? Rescue?

There were too many explosive words in that one sentence to catch at once.

The champions traded looks along the shore.

So it was not a straight plunge into the lake after all.

Very Ethan.

His brain simply did not run on ordinary human wiring.

Fleur’s heart lurched.

She thought of her missing sister.

No. Surely not…

"There are invisible glass walkways hovering over the lake," Ethan went on.

In the stands, a grey‑bearded professor puffed up proudly. "Crafted using my Alchemy," he told his neighbour. "Marvels of modern transfiguration."

"Use your wits," Ethan said. "Find the right path and reach the centre of the lake."

At that, Luna raised her hand. "What happens if we step wrong?" she asked.

"Excellent question," Ethan said, snapping his fingers.

The crowd: …

Are they doing a routine now?

"If you step wrong," he said, "you fall. Straight into the lake."

"You can always climb back onto the bridge. Of course, the Black Lake is full of residents."

The water heaved.

Several merpeople armed with wicked tridents glided into view just below the surface, circling, snarling.

"Why are they so cross?" Draco Malfoy muttered. "They are usually tolerable."

From Slytherin’s common room beneath the lake, he had sometimes caught glimpses of them sliding past the tall windows, shadows in the murk.

Ethan tilted his head, putting on his most innocent look. "We reached an agreement. They kindly agreed to take part. They were thrilled."

An inhuman screech rose from the water.

The crowd: …did not sound thrilled.

"In short, you are still killing a monster. You just have a time limit and obstacles this round," Krum said roughly, impatience showing.

"I understand. Can we begin?"

"No rush. There is one last crucial element," Ethan said with a smile.

He turned his wrist, producing a card that swelled into a black egg the length of a forearm.

The moment the aura of that dark power washed over the shore, Dumbledore’s face changed.

The ever‑present twinkle vanished. Clear shock, even panic, flashed across his features, as if someone had reached into his chest and squeezed an old wound.

"This is a Black Egg containing an Obscurus," Ethan said, voice as clear and pleasant as ever, yet sending shivers racing up spines. "If it is broken, the darkness inside will erupt and attack everything around it without discrimination."

"Each team receives one egg."

"Any team that finishes the task with an intact Black Egg will receive extra points."

He half closed his eyes, ignoring the horrified looks from the other organisers, and stroked the egg’s cold shell, entranced.

"Ah," he sighed. "I cannot wait to see what hatches from this terror."​

HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 300

Chapter 300: Mosquitoes by the Lake Are Perfectly Normal… Aren’t They?

“Strange.”

Standing at the lakeside, Sosia tilted her head in curiosity, staring at the clear water in front of her.

She could feel it: the water in the lake was refusing to communicate with her. It rejected every attempt she made to reach out, every request she sent into its depths.

That was extremely odd. As a spirit of springs, she should have been able to connect with any flow of water. After the lessons from that Dark Lord lady, she could even sense and command water in other states and forms.

In all her life, she had only ever felt this kind of rejection once before, back when the lake monster in the Great Lake of the Orléans Forest had still been there. And even then, it had not been as obvious as what she was feeling now.

Could there be something inside this building that was even more frightening than that lake monster?

But her current strength was nothing like it had been back then. With all the strange bonuses from Evans’s bizarre talents, even if she ran into that lake monster alone now, she was confident she could at least hold her own.

“There isn’t some incredible, terrifying big thing hiding in there, is there?”

Sosia crouched down and poked a finger into the lake. Aside from the faint ripples that spread from where she touched, the surface remained calm and still.

There was nothing about it that suggested some terrifying, powerful creature lived below.

“Wuu...”

The huge Chimera crouched on the shore beside her. Its tail was tucked in close, and it kept casting wary glances all around, like it expected danger to spring out at any second.

“You really don’t look like a powerful magical beast right now.”

She ran a hand over the Chimera’s back, the coarse hair like that of a black mountain goat, and asked curiously, “So how did you run into the curse last time? You felt weak all over the moment you came in? And now, do you feel anything at all?”

“Awroo!”

The giant beast shook its head, but fear still clouded its expression.

“Come on, don’t be scared, relax!”

Seeing the huge beast cower like that, Sosia reached out and patted its head in a big‑sisterly, careless way. “With me here, as long as that curse has anything to do with water, there is no way it can affect you.”

“Wuu-aoo?”

At her words, the Chimera did not relax. It only let out a small, uncertain whine, as if asking a question.

“What if the curse has nothing to do with water, you mean?” Sosia scratched her cheek, thinking. “Mm... there should... probably... still be a way to deal with it, right?”

After hearing that, the Chimera fell silent. It took two more steps back, wrapped its front paws over its head, and went right back to shivering.

“What are you so scared of? Curses don’t skip you just because you are afraid of them.”

Sosia pouted in mild annoyance, then glanced again at the lake in front of her. All at once she lifted her arm and looked down at the silver‑white mark that had just begun to glow on her skin.

Her eyes lit up.

“Almost forgot I still had this!” she said happily.

She closed her fingers lightly. A water‑blue sigil shimmered to life above her palm, and a line of writing gradually appeared within it.

[I have found the Great Lake! But where have you all gone?]

The silver‑white mark flickered for a moment. Another line of text slowly formed.

[It might be a bit hard to explain for the moment, but we are all quite safe. You found the Great Lake?]

[Yes! The lake is absurdly huge, but for some reason I cannot seem to control the water in it, just like back in the Orléans Forest.]

[Aside from that, though, it does not feel dangerous here at all. According to the big fellow, last time it felt its body go weak the moment it came in, but this time, after all this time, it still does not feel weak at all.]

[Maybe that curse is already gone!]

The silver letters pulsed, the strokes of the handwriting carrying a faint sense of helplessness from the one writing them.

[You had better still be careful. If nothing unexpected happens, we should be finished here in a few hours at most. You and the Chimera should find somewhere to hide and just wait for us to meet up.]

Sosia twirled a lock of hair around her finger, bored, as she shaped new letters in the glowing mark.

[What on earth are you all doing? Can you tell me a little? I am really curious!]

After she wrote that, the silver‑white text paused for a while, as though the person on the other end were trying to decide how to explain things.

But while Sosia waited, the Chimera beside her suddenly let out a roar of sheer terror.

“What is it, what is it?”

The girl spun around at once, then slowly felt her jaw drop.

Above the lake, at some point, a massive swarm of giant insects had appeared. They looked like mosquitoes, yet were many times larger. They stared down with scarlet eyes, looking as though they could dive and attack at any second.

Staring up at the enormous cloud of mosquito‑things stretching so far she could not see the end of it, Sosia scratched her head and muttered under her breath, “Uh... having mosquitoes by the lake at night is perfectly normal, right?”

The next instant, her whole body burst apart into countless streams of water, which wrapped around the Chimera that was still staring up at the sky and swept it away into the distance.

“Keep staring and see what happens! Those are definitely not normal mosquitoes. If you keep looking, you are going to get sucked dry!”

Night.

In the Auror Office of the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, Halstein Moi, Captain of the Auror squad, had finally finished for the day. He leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

“Finally done.”

Over Christmas, the workload for the Auror Office had multiplied several times over. Norway was not exactly a famous tourist destination in the wizarding world, but that did nothing to offset the massive tide of travelling witches and wizards Christmas always brought.

Every morning, he had to lead a team on a patrol through the whole Ministry of Magic. After that, there were the stacks of paperwork piled up like little mountains on the office desks. In the middle of processing those, if any dispute broke out near the Ministry that required Auror intervention, he had to gather a squad and rush out to deal with it.

Even after he had seconded several clerks from idle posts like the Office of Ghost Affairs, he still had to work until deep into the night every single day just to barely keep up.

At this moment, he almost missed the days when the Dark Lord had still been alive. Back then, the whole of Europe had been gripped by fear. There were hardly any tourists even at Christmas, and since the Dark Lord’s main theatre of activity had been Britain, their own duties had mostly consisted of turning up on time and patrolling the immediate surroundings.

Those really had been easy days. A pity they would never return.

Halstein shook his head, tidying his things while his gaze drifted lazily over his desk.

Thoughts like that were ones he only dared entertain in the privacy of his own mind. If he ever voiced such an opinion aloud, he would be reported in no time and lose the position he had worked so hard to win.

“Hm? What is this?”

A long sheet of parchment suddenly caught his eye. It was covered in names, divided into several broad categories by country and age.

“A list? Traveller records...?”

He picked up the parchment and scanned it, then remembered. Right, he had told his subordinates earlier to put together a list of all current visitors.

Thinking back to what had happened in the Floo Hall, Halstein spread the parchment flat on his desk and began reading the names carefully.

“Gaute Helle, Jarle Hrum...”

His gaze slid down the list name by name, then suddenly stopped. His eyes locked onto one entry, and a distant, unfocused look crept into them.

That name reminded him of a heavy commission he had taken on many years ago.

“Penelo Krivat?”

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 293

Chapter 293: The Garden of Moonlit Visions, The Second Task Begins

"Professor Moody" was drenched in sweat.

Barty Crouch Junior had never imagined that Mr Lamp would turn out to be Ethan in disguise.

Forget raising his wand. He had nearly ended up in the far worse position of having to explain why his wand was pointed the wrong way.

He felt like a stray dog minding its own business on the roadside only to be kicked out of nowhere.

Ethan Vincent. Had he done that on purpose or by accident?

Trying to patch the blunder, Barty hastily put on an air of cool certainty. "Hmph. Knew it was a fake from the start," he rasped.

Under the nervous stares around him, he even rapped his spinning magical eye with a knuckle.

Several girls in elegant dress robes recoiled, faces wrinkling in distaste.

The act was thorough.

No one noticed the sweat beading at his temple.

He had not "seen through it" at all. That had been a lie. The enchanted eye had not shown him any difference between Ethan and Mr Lamp.

It was nowhere near as miraculous as the rumours claimed.

He did not dwell on it. Rumours always grew wilder in the telling. They could not be completely false, surely.

At least Dumbledore seemed to have swallowed the performance. The Headmaster looked away, turned, and patted Crouch Senior, who had been struck dumb by Ethan’s question, in a soothing gesture.

Then he smiled at the students. "Vigilance can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, let us celebrate Christmas."

At his signal, the lights shifted.

Green‑tinged candle flames sprang up and the Weird Sisters exploded onto the stage with a slash of strings and a boom of smoke.

The mood went from tense to electric in a heartbeat.

Students roared, raising mug after mug of Butterbeer, letting foam splash over faces and robes, glittering like powdered diamonds in the air.

Amid the revelry, Barty finally let out a long breath.

He shot a cold look at his father, filled with disgust.

To be cowed by a child’s words. Worthless.

"Cast Avada Kedavra at me," was it?

As if anyone but Mr Lamp could withstand the Killing Curse.

"I have already pumped that idiot Bagman for every detail of the second task," Barty muttered to himself, a vicious gleam in his eye. "Every angle accounted for."

"As long as nothing unexpected happens, this time, Ethan Vincent dies."

The first task had been pure luck.

For the second, he would be playing for keeps. He would be going in himself.

Better safe than sorry, though.

"Still, I should write to Mr Lamp as well," he thought. "Once he hears how Ethan mocked him tonight, Mr Lamp will be furious."

He could already see it: victory and the Dark Lord’s praise beckoning just ahead.

His smile stretched wide.

He was sure of it.

Out in the gardens beyond the Hall, night lay still and quiet.

A patch of lawn and evergreen bushes, cleared specially, whispered and swayed in the light breeze.

Ethan and Luna strolled along the gravel path hand in hand.

He toyed with a new card between his fingers, dark power coiling from it like black mist.

"What is that?" Luna asked, tilting her head, blue eyes bright with curiosity.

Ethan flipped his hand and made the card vanish.

He pressed a finger to his lips, all mock‑solemn secrecy. "A special little tool for the second task."

He had done it: created an Obscurus egg.

A fresh horror for the second task, something no one had ever seen before.

He wondered what the old man would do when he saw that energy.

The night he had first entered the hidden place, Ethan had gone straight to the library afterwards and looked up the name Ariana.

Ariana Dumbledore.

Dumbledore’s sister.

Her entire entry in the book had been one curt line:

"After a tragic experimental accident, young Albus Dumbledore lost his sister forever."

Unofficial histories hinted that she had been an Obscurial and embroidered the story with a great deal of melodramatic nonsense.

"Hmph."

Luna’s mouth turned down. "You always have secrets."

Ethan laughed, eyes crinkling into crescents.

He looked at her and said softly, "You will know them all, one day."

"Good," Luna said serenely. "I am very good at waiting."

Then she bounded off like a fawn.

Ethan followed at an easy pace, polished shoes crunching on the pebbles, the wind ruffling his fringe.

He wore nothing especially lavish: a well‑cut black suit, a deep blue tie, and a falcon brooch at his lapel inlaid with gemstones.

With nothing more than a rake of his fingers through his hair, he was still impossible to overlook.

Like a walking, self‑propelled love potion.

When he had pushed through the packed crowd leaving the Hall earlier, several girls’ knees had actually gone weak.

"Ahh."

He breathed out, lifting his face to the round white moon above, and felt a rare, deep calm settle over him.

Without really noticing, they reached the little fountain at the heart of the garden.

Ethan stopped and watched Luna leaning over the stone rim to trail her fingers in the water.

He stepped forward, offered his right hand, and bowed slightly in a courtly gesture.

"May I have this dance, Miss Lovegood?"

Luna blinked.

Then she slapped her hand into his without a second thought for etiquette, her smile blooming brighter than any flower.

"Until forever!" she said joyfully.

"Hehehe."

Ethan’s grin widened.

He drew his wand and flicked it.

A violin appeared from thin air and began to play a mournful tune, joined soon after by tambourine, clarinet, and piano.

Birds fell silent. Crickets stopped mid‑chirp.

To the music’s slow rise and fall, Ethan’s arm slipped around Luna’s waist. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder.

They swayed together in the ivory light.

Not far away, Hagrid and Madame Maxime crouched in the grass on what was very obviously a "secret" date, staring, dumbfounded.

"Hogwarts teaches demon summoning rituals now?" Madame Maxime whispered, swallowing hard.

Even the shadows on the ground looked ready to fly off.

Hagrid thought for a long moment.

Did Ethan really need to summon anything?

He rubbed his sausage‑thick fingers together and changed the subject desperately. "Er… d’ye want t’ come see the Blast‑Ended Skrewts? They do backflips."

So the Christmas feast passed in an oddly peaceful way.

High above, an owl carried a secret letter in looping arcs away from Hogwarts and then, after a long diversion, straight back again, to the top of the highest tower.

It drifted through a window.

A severed hand on the desk snapped up and caught the envelope with precise, gentlemanly grace, setting it before its master.

In the unnoticed depths of the night, the letter was opened and read.

A quiet chuckle sounded.

A single line appeared in reply:

"Do not worry. Leave everything to me."

Mr Lamp.

As plans clicked into place on all sides, the second task of the Triwizard Tournament began.

This time, the arena was the Black Lake.

HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 299

Chapter 299: The One and Only Merlin

“Mm...”

Rubbing a head that still felt a little woozy, Evans straightened up, quickly checked the state of his body, then consciously triggered the fairy’s danger sense. Only after confirming he had not been attacked did he look around, puzzled.

Barely half a minute earlier, he had just come up with a possible explanation and was about to share it with his companions when the scene before his eyes underwent a series of complicated changes.

First, the snow melted away. Then the landscape began to reshape itself. Trees cycled through countless springs, summers, autumns and winters in the span of heartbeats. The earth and sky changed appearance over and over again in an instant. That rapid-fire cascade of transformations went on for a full thirty seconds, leaving his head spinning from the sheer flood of information.

Fortunately, the shifting of the scene finally came to an end, and he could at last see his surroundings clearly.

It looked like some kind of medieval pasture. All around stood thatched sheds and fenced enclosures, and inside the fences roamed all kinds of magical creatures. They played and chased each other across the grass, an idyllic pastoral picture.

So this was supposed to be the Great Lake? Yet he still did not see anything that looked remotely like a lake.

“Meow~”

A Kneazle trotted up to his feet from who knew where. Evans crouched down and stroked its head, drawing a pleased, rumbling purr from its throat.

He was just about to scratch the Kneazle under the chin when a soft, unhurried set of footsteps sounded behind him. He turned at once, on guard, and saw an elderly witch who looked extraordinarily kindly, cradling a Niffler in her arms. When she noticed him look back, she gave him a gentle smile.

“Hello, young man.”

“Good day, ma’am, you are...” Evans stared at her face, a strange sense of familiarity pricking at him. He rifled through his memories, then a flicker of astonishment crossed his expression. “Lady Hufflepuff?”

“That is me.”

Her smile grew even softer as she watched the little Kneazle in Evans’s palm wearing an expression of pure bliss. She paused for a moment. “You graduated from Hogwarts, did you not?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Evans stood up. “I have heard quite a few legends about you.”

“I imagine any legends about me were attached to the tales of Salazar or Godric,” the old witch said, spreading her hands. Her gaze dropped back to the Kneazle, which was rubbing against Evans’s trouser leg, reluctant to leave. She spoke softly. “You know its habits very well, and the little fellow in my arms is rather fond of you too. With a talent like that... which house did the Hat put you in?”

“Slytherin, ma’am.”

At that, a trace of regret appeared on Lady Hufflepuff’s face.

“It seems the legacy that excellent student of Salazar’s left you still influenced that Hat far too much.”

“A Slytherin student? Left me something?” Confusion crept across Evans’s features. “What do you mean?”

“You do not know?” The old witch looked genuinely surprised. “Are you not his heir?”

“Heir...” Evans mouthed the word. His mind stalled for an instant, then his eyes flew wide. “Merlin?”

“Yes. Salazar taught an absolutely remarkable student,” Lady Hufflepuff said, voice steeped in reminiscence. “If not for him, no one knows how long that age of darkness would have lasted. And we would never have been able to create a school capable of passing knowledge down the generations.”

“But... was Merlin not from around the fifth century? He was supposed to be a contemporary of King Arthur...”

As he spoke, a memory flashed through Evans’s mind: about a year ago, he had discussed medieval history with Professor Binns, and they had touched on this exact topic.

The name Merlin had appeared in both the fifth and the tenth centuries, and both figures were tremendously famous.

At the time, Professor Binns had explained that the wizarding world generally believed the two Merlins were not the same person. The evidence was that the Merlin who lived during the founding of Hogwarts had once stood before the Tree of Life, and the Tree had confirmed that his age matched his apparent appearance.

Ever since then, whenever Evans saw Merlin, he had always assumed he was meeting the Merlin who had lived in the fifth century.

But if he had once been Salazar Slytherin’s student...

“So you have worked it out?”

Seeing the dawning realisation on the young man’s face, Lady Hufflepuff nodded with a smile. “That is right. In this world, there has only ever been one Merlin of such fame.”

“But how did he...”

A thousand questions clamoured inside Evans’s chest, but the old witch slowly shook her head before he could voice them.

“I know you have many questions,” she said softly. “But forgive me. I am only a phantom. There is much I do not truly understand.”

“All I can tell you is that through a series of complex manoeuvres, he succeeded in holding that era in check. Yet that era did not vanish. It was sealed away within the world itself.”

“And because of that, a great deal of knowledge was sealed along with it. It cannot be written down. It cannot be passed on in words. It cannot be easily understood. Only those of us who have seen it with our own eyes and grasped it personally are able to remember those things.”

“For that very reason, we joined forces to reshape the heart of this forest, turning it into my pasture, Salazar’s laboratory, Godric’s battlefield, and Rowena’s tower.”

“From then on, we left behind these echoes of the old days and began a long wait, hoping that one day we could pass this knowledge on.”

As she spoke, the old witch gently stroked the Niffler in her arms, her eyes full of tenderness.

“Unfortunately, these phantoms can only be activated once.”

“In all this time, we have encountered several witches and wizards who were capable of bearing our legacy. Yet each of them had strikingly distinct qualities, and the knowledge they could comprehend differed as well. No matter whom we chose, it would mean the others’ knowledge could never be passed down.”

“And, of course, any witch or wizard who can rely on their own strength to reach the depths of this forest and trigger the wards we left behind would hardly be someone without pride of their own.”

“So, until today, we have only now gained a chance. A chance to pass our knowledge on perfectly.”

“So that is why I am here?” Evans nodded slowly, though doubt flickered once more in his eyes.

“But there are five of us. Five people for four founders. How are we supposed to divide things...”

“No, there are only four.”

The old witch cut him off, a slightly mischievous smile tugging at her lips. Tilting her head at Evans, she said softly, “We sensed only four witches and wizards entering the bounds of our trial.”

“And because of that, each of us can now choose the witch or wizard we deem most suitable, ask the questions we ourselves have always wanted answered, and in passing, teach some of the knowledge that can never be written into books.”

“One each, for four of you. It works out perfectly.”

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 292

Chapter 292: Christmas Feast! Ethan’s Stunning Entrance

"Wow."

Harry tugged at the lapels of his black tailcoat, feeling ridiculous, and stared around the transformed Great Hall in open amazement.

Everywhere glittered gold and silver. It was as if ten thousand candles had been lit at once, their light reflected in glass and silverware until everything shone.

Garlands of mistletoe and holly hung from the windows and walls, twined with bright streamers. Even with snow falling thick outside, the Hall felt lush and alive.

For some students, though, the most attractive thing was clearly the feast laid out on the long tables.

"Wow."

Ron’s jaw dropped.

He stared, wide‑eyed, at the plump roast turkeys, the mashed potatoes drowned in gravy, the towers of sausages, and pies stuffed with every filling a person could imagine, and several they probably could not.

And then there were the mountains and mountains of Butterbeer.

His throat bobbed loudly as he swallowed.

He plainly had not expected it to be that loud. His cheeks flushed and he darted panicked glances around.

"Oi! Our little Ronnie is hungry enough to eat a person!" the Weasley twins crowed, springing up behind him and clapping him on the back so hard he nearly bit his tongue.

"Get lost!" Ron snapped.

"Is that so?" one twin said. "Telling family to clear off on Christmas, is it? New dress robes go on and suddenly our Ronnie does not know us."

Ron went even redder. "Oh, shut up."

Thanks to Ethan’s cut of the Moonflower profits, Ron had a brand‑new set of dress robes this year. Plain black, but new.

When he learned how close he had come to wearing a set dragged out of a second‑hand bin in Knockturn Alley that had once belonged to someone’s grandmother, he had nearly dropped to his knees to thank Ethan.

Trying to change the subject, Harry asked, "Where are Ethan and Luna? The champions will be entering any minute."

The twins shrugged. "Who knows? They are not going to walk in like normal people, that is for sure."

They exchanged identical grins.

What would "Prank King Ethan" do this time to give everyone a fright?

Appear out of nowhere in the middle of them?

Drop from the ceiling like a meteor?

They could not wait to see.

The music started.

Even the professors seemed to have resigned themselves to Ethan’s absence. No one went to look for him. They simply hustled the champions backstage.

On the way, Professor McGonagall fussed with her wand over Harry’s hair, which did not appreciate the attention, and made his heart hammer.

"I think she is a bit on edge," one of the twins muttered, grudgingly handing over the firecrackers hidden in his pocket.

"Anyone who misplaces a walking time bomb right before an international event would be," Harry said.

"All right, children," said McGonagall briskly. "Time. On stage."

The words "time" and "on stage" sounded suspiciously like "last walk to the gallows."

The music swelled.

Harry took his partner’s arm.

Moving in a stiff, wrong‑footed rhythm, they stepped through the curtain into the blaze of light.

On the very first bar, he came down hard on Miss Patil’s toes.

"Sorry," he mumbled, pretending not to see the murderous glare she shot him.

From the floor below came the confused murmur of "Where’s Ethan?"

He locked up, muddling "underarm turns" with "wavy sways" and every other step in between.

And yet, unexpectedly, as if determined to drag things out with the dullest possible knife, the entire opening dance passed without a single sign of Ethan or Luna.

When the polite applause finally began, Harry, panting, caught sight of Sirius clapping like mad and could not help grinning back.

Then, as the violin drew out its last note—

A breath of cold wind blew through the Hall.

Every candle guttered out at once.

Darkness fell.

So it was time.

Harry jumped, then, to his own surprise, exhaled, and even laughed under his breath. "See? After a while, it just stops being scary."

It was only Ethan up to his usual tricks again, ready to spook them all.

He even found it a little exciting.

The next second, his smile froze.

His pupils shrank.

It felt like all the blood in his body rushed to his head at once.

From the blackness, a pure white mask drifted into view.

Mr Lamp.

Silence slammed down. You could have heard a pin drop.

Every lighthearted face in the room turned to stone.

Professor "Mad‑Eye" Moody shot to his feet. His magical eye bulged in astonishment as his hand hovered near his wand.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

In the dead quiet, Mr Lamp’s figure slowly emerged.

Moonlight fell through the high windows like a stage spotlight, coming to rest perfectly on him.

It lit the limp, golden‑haired girl cradled in his arms.

Her pale, thin arm hung down, scarlet drops pattering to the floor.

She looked utterly lifeless.

Luna Lovegood.

The girl who usually bounded about like a startled deer now lay still as glass. A jagged hole gaped in her chest, and from it grew a single, perfect red rose.

"Love kills without spilling blood. It denies the dead their rest and the living their release," said a clear young voice, deliberately lowered.

Harry blinked.

Only then did he register that Mr Lamp’s body was unmistakably that of a boy.

The gloved hand rose and plucked the rose from Luna’s chest. A tender petal fell as he moved.

"When the last petal falls, the black egg will crack," he said. "And devour the one you hold most dear."

"That is the clue to the second task."

As he spoke, the candles flared back to life.

Light flooded the Hall, revealing the smiling face beneath the mask.

Ethan Vincent.

The "dead" Luna looped her arms around his neck, pushed herself upright, and waved happily at the stunned crowd.

For two long seconds, no one moved.

Then applause crashed over them like a storm.

The Weasley twins leapt onto the table, faces flushed red as tomatoes.

"Brilliant!"

"Bloody fantastic!"

"What a performance! Who would have thought Ethan would play the Dark Lord?"

"Perfect!"

The knot in Harry’s chest finally loosened. He let out a shaky laugh.

"Ethan’s sense of humour is still… unique."

But the show had made its point. The second task’s clue burned in his mind; he doubted he would ever forget it now.

Amid the cheering and clapping, Ethan’s smile did not falter.

In the depths of his cobalt eyes, though, a twist of shadow flickered that no one noticed.

While the Hall was still drunk on his entrance—

Bang.

A fist slammed down on the staff table.

Bartemius Crouch, the Ministry official overseeing the Goblet of Fire, shot to his feet, glaring at Ethan as if he could set him on fire by willpower alone.

"Do you think enemies of the wizarding world are a joke?" he shouted. "This is childish nonsense!"

It was as if someone had ripped open an old wound. He was shaking with fury, sucking in ragged breaths.

The applause stuttered out.

Students looked around uneasily.

The twins exchanged a look that said very clearly, Shall we or shall we not slip a few Stink Pellets into the stiff‑necked Ministry man’s pockets?

Did he expect them to bow to Dark wizards?

They would have to check whether he had a portrait of Voldemort hanging at home.

"Come now," Dumbledore said quickly. "It is Christmas. There is no need—"

A clear voice cut across him.

"Then may I ask you a question, sir?"

Ethan’s tone was cool.

He eased Luna back onto her feet and met Crouch’s eyes, his own as blue and hard as cut gems.

"If I were an enemy," he said, spacing the words, "why did you not cast Avada Kedavra on me the moment I appeared?"

Crouch faltered, anger freezing on his face.

"Ah, that…"

Ethan turned away from him.

He swept his gaze across the Hall, over row after row of blank, startled faces.

"Why," he asked, spreading his arms, voice ringing, "when you saw an attack, did no one fight back or run?"

"Do you think an enemy will knock politely just because it is Christmas Eve?"

A cold feeling slid down a hundred spines at once.

Ethan clenched his fists and sighed.

In the softest, most indulgent tone, he said, "Looks like we need more practice."

"The second task will be harder."

Everyone: …

The champions: …

Mate.

How was he any better than Mr Lamp?

Across the staff table, something in Dumbledore’s expression shifted at those words.

He jerked his head around and fixed his gaze like a hawk’s on the one person who most should not have stayed still.

A battle‑scarred ex‑Auror who jumped at the slightest threat.

Mad‑Eye Moody.

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed.

Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 360

Chapter 360: A Journey Spanning Decades

“No.”

Boromir’s refusal was harsh and cold, but his head was anything but calm; it shook back and forth like a rattle-drum.

Leaving aside whether this was the right time or place, there was that armour of his, radiating heat. One careless hug and you were bound to come away with a few burns.

Even so, the interruption worked. For some reason, Boromir suddenly felt his heart grow lighter.

Where in the world had this damned, inexplicable sense of ease come from?

Still, it was not a bad feeling.

He leaned back against the stone chair and sank into thought.

Gondor was not alone.

Levi, the supreme leader of the Free Cities, who had only met him a few times but had long-standing ties with his house, truly would come if Gondor were in peril.

Boromir understood that now.

Those had not been empty words; he had meant every one of them.

An elder who had been a friend of his family since his great-grandfather’s time, friendly and dependable… it was, undeniably, reassuring.

Though his great-grandfather’s time…

Boromir stole a look at Aragorn, then at Levi.

Was he really a Man, or…?

There was no time to chase that line of thought. The council was already moving on to its next stage.

First, they came to one point of agreement: no ordinary means could threaten the One Ring. It could only be unmade in the Crack of Doom in Orodruin.

Levi had already proved this. He had tried every way he knew of to destroy material things, and none of them had worked on the Ring.

Then came Gimli.

The young Dwarf, who was just a little prone to rush in, could not accept at first that a ring that looked like solid gold could be indestructible.

He immediately swung his heavy, solid steel axe down at it. The result was that the axe shattered under the force that rang back from the Ring, and Gimli himself was hurled away.

Luckily, Aragorn and Legolas both sprang up behind him and caught him. Otherwise, he would have rolled a long way down the steps.

“Let me go, you two!”

Gimli kicked in indignation. Pinned between them in mid-air, he looked thoroughly embarrassed.

The others could only stare at one another.

Levi looked at the Ring and came to his own judgement.

Its hardness could, in a sense, be compared to bedrock. Bedrock’s hardness was like a negative number: by the rules of the world, it could not be broken, unless another rule of equal or higher order was brought against it.

To destroy such a thing, you had to rely on a special mechanism.

Once they had confirmed that no common method could destroy the Ring, the discussion began anew.

Someone proposed sending it to Valinor to be guarded by the Valar and the Elves there. But even leaving aside the dangers that might lurk on the Sea, there was the nature of the Ring itself. No one could swear it would not cause fresh trouble in that land.

The Valar themselves might not care much for so small a trinket. But there were many other, more ordinary beings there. It was not a reliable plan.

That idea was set aside, and Levi’s name came up again.

Another suggestion was to send the Ring to Roadside Keep to be held under tight guard. That plan, too, proved unwise and was quickly rejected, Levi included.

Yes, Levi did have the means to seal the Ring away completely, as he had done with the Orthanc stone, so that no one but he could touch it, not even if Sauron came in person.

But in truth, that was no different from sending it to Valinor. Both plans were, in essence, nothing more than hiding the Ring in some far place and hoping it stayed there.

On this, Gandalf gave his own view.

“Seas can turn to dry land. No one can foresee what is to come. Our duty here is not merely to think of the present moment, nor of a few generations of Men, nor even of one single age of the world. We must seek a way to end this threat entirely, however hard that may be.”

Elrond said gravely, “It must be taken into the very heart of Mordor, cast into that fire, and destroyed.”

When the two of them had spoken, a brief silence fell.

All eyes turned to the last man who had not yet given his word.

“I agree,” Levi said, his tone even. “It must be destroyed.”

“Someone among us must bear the Ring, and carry it into Mordor.”

So the broad course of the council was set.

From then on, everything turned on how to destroy the Ring in practice, and who should serve as Ring-bearer.

“Mordor is not a place one simply walks into,” Boromir said.

He held his head in his hands.

“Creatures more savage than Orcs guard the Black Gate. Evil never sleeps in that land. The Eye is ever watchful…”

“The other way in leads through that barren, lifeless waste, Minas Morgul,” he went on.

“The ground is pitted with great holes, belching smoke and fire. Poison chokes every inch of the air. A single breath of it is agony.”

“March ten thousand men in there, or twenty, or thirty thousand, it would be useless, and worse than useless. It would be a folly.”

Even if those soldiers were not from Gondor, but from the North.

That thought he did not speak aloud.

“Did you not hear what Lord Elrond and Levi said? The Ring must be destroyed!”

Quick-tempered as ever, Legolas sprang up at once to snap back at him.

Boromir gave a soft laugh and shook his head.

He remembered the countless nights when he could not sleep. Standing on the frontier with his sword in hand, staring out at the black plains of Mordor. The sudden, burning gaze of the Eye, wreathed in flame, flung across that long distance.

He remembered how hard it had been not to grind his teeth to dust as he stood against it.

This Elf knew nothing. He had never seen any of it.

Boromir suddenly rose, anger flaring.

“What if we fail?” he demanded. “What if the Ring is taken back by the Enemy?”

“I do not believe an Elf can bear such a burden,” Gimli added, throwing more fuel on the fire.

That was enough to set the whole council blazing.

Levi looked at the One Ring on the stone in the centre of the circle, and knew it was working again.

It never missed a chance to throw everything around it into disorder.

Seeing the situation slipping out of control, Gandalf leapt up to stop it.

“While you quarrel, Sauron’s power only grows!” he cried. “We must not waste ourselves on pointless conflict!”

By now, very few of the council were still in their seats.

Elrond sat with his fingers twisted together, head bowed, sighing once more.

Glorfindel leaned back in his chair, hands resting on his knees, sitting straight and still, watching the quarrel in silence.

Levi glanced around, thoughtful.

Frodo felt lost.

It had been settled that the Ring must be destroyed. However it was done, someone would have to carry it, and that choice could not be made lightly.

First to be ruled out were Levi and Glorfindel. It was not that they were untrustworthy; it was that if anything happened to either of them with the Ring in hand, the result would be a world-shattering catastrophe, a danger even greater than Sauron himself.

The wizards were out of the question as well. Gandalf had already explained why.

“I will go,” said a voice.

To everyone’s surprise, Bilbo was the first to stand. Tugging at Gandalf’s sleeve as the wizard still argued with the others, he said, “Since this trouble began with me, let me be the one to finish it. I can take it to Mordor.”

Gandalf shook his head.

“No, Bilbo. You have done enough. You have borne the Ring far too long already. You must not take it up again,” he said.

“Not unless you mean to end up like Gollum.”

“Oh!” Bilbo clutched at his chest and shook his head at once.

No. Becoming like Gollum would be altogether too dreadful.

The argument rolled on.

In the din, where no one could make out the exact words any more, Frodo found himself looking towards Levi.

Levi met his gaze and smiled.

A thought rose in Frodo’s heart, and he suddenly asked him, “Will it be a journey with beautiful sights along the way?”

“Have you decided, then?” Levi asked.

In the clamour, the two of them spoke quietly.

“Yes. I have decided,” Frodo said, and nodded.

Time slipped back by decades.

At an unplanned birthday party long ago, Levi had given Frodo a special gift.

A journey, and an adventure. The time of that adventure would be for Frodo to choose.

The path itself would be Levi’s to arrange.

And now Frodo had chosen.

But the journey he had settled on today did not seem such a fair one, and its end was unlikely to be kind.

“I will take it!”

Frodo drew a deep breath, rose to his feet, and walked towards the others.

One Piece: The Dragon All-Star - 190

Chapter 190: Searching for the Dark-Dark Fruit

Wano Country, inside the Shogun’s castle.

The iron scent of blood still lingered in the room.

Umit stood frozen where he was, watching the Donquixote officers fall one after another, cut down as cleanly as a field of wheat under the scythe.

He held his breath without thinking, not daring even to swallow too loudly, afraid the slightest sound might draw the reaper’s gaze down on him.

But after giving the order to deal with the Donquixote Family, Kai seemed to forget Umit existed.

He calmly went back to his paperwork.

He did not so much as glance Umit’s way.

The silent disregard frightened Umit more than any torture could have.

Not knowing what would happen next left his back slick with cold sweat.

What does he want?

To kill me? Lock me up? Let me go?

A thousand guesses boiled in his skull.

Minute by minute, his face turned paler. His body started to shake.

At last, Kai finished the last document and set his pen aside.

Only then did he look up, as if just remembering there was someone else in the room.

“Oh. You are still here, Umit,” he said.

The offhand remark hit like a gunshot.

Umit jerked, his legs going so weak he nearly collapsed on the spot.

“Lord Kai! I am useful. Do not kill me. I will pay for my life,” he blurted, voice cracking with sheer panic.

If he was a second too slow, his head might roll.

Kai leaned back lazily in his wide chair, fingers interlaced before him. He watched Umit with unhurried curiosity.

“Then explain your value,” he said.

“I have money. Ten billion Berries—no, twenty billion—for my life,” Umit babbled.

“And Devil Fruits. I have three Zoan Fruits in my collection. All yours.”

“Idiot.”

Kai shook his head, unimpressed.

“If I kill you, your money and your Fruits end up mine anyway.”

Hearing him lay that out so bluntly made the corner of Umit’s mouth twitch.

So much for subtlety.

He clenched his teeth.

Now was not the time to be stingy.

He threw his biggest card on the table.

“I… I am willing to serve the Beasts Pirates,” he said. “Every shipping route and fleet I have built up over the years can merge with Beasts Logistics with no conditions.”

If that did not move Kai, nothing would.

Still, now that he had spoken the words, Umit’s frantic mind began to clear.

If Kai had truly planned to kill him, he would not have left him alive this long.

There had to be something in him Kai wanted, something that only worked so long as he was breathing.

Sure enough, the man on the throne finally smiled.

“A wise choice,” Kai said.

He snapped his fingers and pointed at Umit.

“Untie him,” he told the ninja at his side.

“Yes, Lord Kai.”

The ninja moved in and swiftly removed Umit’s bonds.

Newly free, Umit lurched forward and bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the floor.

“From today, I, Umit, and everything I own will follow only Lord Kai’s will,” he said.

Kai only nodded once.

He was not naive enough to believe this display of “loyalty.”

A man like Umit had no real loyalty in his bones.

That was fine.

Kai would give him some.

“Law. Take out his heart,” he said.

No loyalty?

Then they would use a literal heart instead.

All the color drained from Umit’s face.

For a second, he thought Kai had changed his mind after all.

“Lord Kai, I truly surrender. I will follow you with all my heart,” he said, voice almost breaking.

“Relax. I am not taking your life. You will understand in a moment,” Kai said, waving him off.

Law stepped up without a word and raised his blade.

An invisible field snapped into place around Umit.

An instant later, steel flashed.

A red lump, about the size of a palm and still beating, dropped neatly into Law’s waiting hand.

He turned and offered it to Kai.

“T-that is… my heart?” Umit croaked.

His hand flew to his chest.

There was a hollow there that had not been there before.

Seeing his own heart pulsing in Kai’s hand left him stunned and blank.

“Of course,” Kai said.

He studied the organ with interest, nodding lightly.

Then he curled his fingers and squeezed.

Under that simple pressure, the once-strong beat faltered.

The heart slowed, stuttering.

Umit felt it at once.

It was as if a giant, unseen hand had crushed his heart still.

Agony ripped through his chest.

His legs buckled and he hit the floor like a sack of mud.

His mouth worked, instinctively trying to drag in air, but nothing reached his lungs.

Without his heart pumping, his organs starved.

The edge of death closed in on him, black and cold.

Right before his consciousness slipped, Kai relaxed his grip.

Thump. Thump.

The heart kicked in his hand again, strong and steady.

Umit sucked in a ragged breath like a drowning man breaking the surface.

He gulped air in great heaves, his whole body trembling from the shock of still being alive.

“I will hold onto this for now,” Kai said lightly. “You do not mind, do you?”

He crouched so he was eye-level with the ruin of a man in front of him and smiled.

Umit, naturally, did not mind.

He twisted his face into the most obedient expression he could manage and nodded hard.

If he had any strength left, he would have lifted both hands and feet to agree.

Seeing how quickly Umit “understood,” Kai nodded, satisfied.

“Good. So long as you do not try anything, I will not squeeze,” he said.

“Look at it another way. As long as your heart is in my hand, none of your enemies will ever get near your weak point again, right?”

Umit screamed inside.

He would have much preferred his heart to stay in his own chest and risk being stabbed.

On his face, though, he managed only a twisted excuse for a smile.

Kai ignored whatever was happening behind his eyes.

He stood and his tone shifted.

“Listen. Our cooperation will never be public,” he said.

“When you go back, you will hand over the twenty billion Berries and three Devil Fruits you just offered, as ransom paid to the Beasts Pirates. To the outside world, that is the price I accepted to spare you.”

“Understood,” Umit panted.

“Good. On the surface, you keep everything the same. Run your shipping empire as usual. But I have a long-term job for you.”

Kai held his gaze and spoke each word clearly.

“You will use all your routes and contacts to search for a Devil Fruit for me. Its name is the Dark-Dark Fruit.”

That was the real reason he had left Umit alive and gone to this much trouble.

“The Dark-Dark Fruit. Got it,” Umit said after a brief pause.

“I will start the search as soon as I am back.”

Inwardly, he shrugged it off.

So Kai had his eye on the Dark-Dark Fruit’s power.

For anyone who did not know the full story, the so-called most evil fruit in the world was a double-edged blade.

Its strength came with obvious flaws.

No intangibility. And any hit hurts twice as much.

That was exactly why Kai felt safe handing the hunt to Umit.

His only real concern was whether the Dark-Dark Fruit was like the Rubber Fruit—a Mythical Zoan hiding behind a Paramecia label.

Given that it could not turn the body into pure element, it was not impossible.

If that were true, the Fruit might have its own will.

It might hide from him on purpose, waiting only for Teach.

There was not much he could do about that.

At best, he could make sure to catch Teach within the next three years and force-feed him some useless Fruit first.

One way or another, he would not let the Dark-Dark Fruit fall into Teach’s hands.

Blackbeard could stay Whitebeard’s “good eldest son.”

Maybe, in time, he would even inherit the Whitebeard Pirates.

Once the dazed but still-breathing Umit had been sent off, with his life and business both clinging on, Kai stretched.

The chores were finally done.

It was time to train.

He could feel it.

His power was edging up against the next wall.

Time, like a wild donkey, only ran faster once it started.

In a blink, a year passed.

In that year, the Beasts Pirates had grown at a frightening pace.

More and more merfolk and Fish-Men chose to settle in Wano’s inland seas, adding new life to the country.

Trade boomed.

Den Den Mushi branded with the Beasts’ mark, sold at friendly prices, spread across the New World and beyond, “storming the castles” of every market in sight.

They had not yet reached Kai’s dream of one snail per person, but on average, every household had one.

To him, though, that prosperity was only icing.

On this brutal sea where the weak were prey, the foundation of everything was still absolute strength.

Onigashima, inside Kai’s private quarters.

He was holding a meteorite chunk bigger than he was.

He tore into it the way someone else might gnaw on bread, each bite grinding stone to gravel between his teeth.

Grit scraped against his molars. Shards tumbled to the floor.

Suddenly he stopped and let out a small, satisfied burp.

It was not his stomach that felt full.

It was something deeper, a fullness built up to the edge of bursting.

“Finally… is it time?” he murmured.

He tossed the half-eaten meteorite aside.

He could not keep the smile off his face.

How could he?

He had spent a whole year diligently eating rocks for this.

“But it feels like… something is still missing,” he said.

He clenched his fist, trying to stir the new power coiled inside him.

It pushed back against him from behind some thin, invisible barrier.

“Of course. Just piling it up is not enough. I need something strong enough to break it,” he said.

His gaze slid toward the great hall in Onigashima’s main keep.

The main hall blazed with light.

As usual, Kaido sat with his massive gourd in one hand, watching the dancers below with half-closed, drunken eyes.

Then his gaze sharpened.

“Kai. Here to drink with me?” he rumbled, a hiccup bubbling in his chest.

Kai smiled.

“Kaido. It is time,” he said. “Let us have the fight that decides who the Beasts belong to.”

“Wororororo!”

Kaido’s laughter shook the hall.

The fog of drink vanished from his eyes, replaced by wild joy and killing heat.

“I have been waiting for this day,” he said.

“Need to sober up and get ready? I can wait,” Kai offered.

“Hmph. No need,” Kaido snorted.

His sheer presence pressed down on the room.

“I am always in top fighting shape.”

News of their coming clash spread across Onigashima like a storm.

“What? Big bro Kai is going to duel boss Kaido?” one pirate yelped.

Disbelief was everyone’s first reaction.

Then the hunger hit.

A fight between Emperors.

You could live your whole life and never see one.

Miss this, and you would regret it forever.

No one hesitated.

They organized themselves in a heartbeat, swarming toward the appointed battlefield in excited, reverent packs.

An unmarked, barren island off Wano’s coast.

Normally even sea birds ignored the place.

Today, the waters around it were packed.

Dozens of ships flying the Beasts’ flag crowded the ring, jostling for position.

Almost everyone from Onigashima had come out to watch, all for the chance to witness the battle that might decide the future.

On deck, pirates shoved, shouted, and even traded punches, all for a better view.

Not one of them set foot on the island.

Everyone understood.

That ground belonged to two people only.

“No surprise from Kai-aniki. He really made it this far,” Page One said, peering through his spyglass, voice full of worship.

“So he is finally taking the throne? Come on, start already,” Ulti said, practically vibrating.

Jack crossed his arms, face twisted.

He had reasons to back them both.

Queen, on the other hand, had his own cheering section screaming themselves hoarse for Kaido.

King stood silent at the bow.

His face was as calm as ever, but a rare shadow crossed his eyes.

On the Rayquaza, the air was just as taut.

Hiyori, Viola, Robin and the others all looked anxious.

They had absolute faith in Kai.

But his opponent was still Kaido, the “strongest creature in the world.”

Yamato alone looked completely at ease.

“Relax. Kai is definitely going to give my old man a proper beating,” she said.

Bonney stared up at her, worry plain on her face.

She tugged on Kuma’s coat.

“Daddy… do all daughters end up like that to their dads?” she asked quietly. “I am not going to be like that, right?”

Kuma rubbed his forehead.

“Yamato is… a special case,” he said.

You could scour the seas and not find many father–daughter pairs like that.

Enel stood with arms folded, Observation Haki stretched to its limit, locked on the two presences at the island’s heart.

So that was the “strongest creature in the world,” was it?

“Shame I still cannot join a fight like that,” Zoro muttered.

His hands tightened around his swords as he stared at the empty rock, hunger and frustration in his voice.

“Do not rush it. Our time will come,” Ace said, tipping his hat down.

His grin was as bright as ever, but the same fire burned behind it.

“They are starting,” Viola said suddenly.

She had never taken her eyes off the island.

As she spoke, the first wave of killing intent crashed over the sea.

The once-calm water boiled.

Waves heaved.

The great ships bucked like toys in a sudden storm, pitching and rolling as the swell slammed into their hulls.

Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 359

Chapter 359: Pressure

At the end of the Third Age, year 3018, on a bright noon, the Council of Rivendell was called to order.

Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, presided. The chief attendees were: Levi, Supreme Leader of the Free Cities, Lord of the North, and legend; Gandalf the Grey; Frodo the Ring-bearer; Bilbo, who had found the Ring; Glorfindel, a Noldorin Elf who looked perfectly ordinary at first glance; the Dwarf Glóin and his son Gimli; Boromir, eldest son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor; Legolas of the Woodland Realm; Aragorn the ranger; and Galdor, messenger of Círdan.

Also seated with Elrond were several councillors of Rivendell.

Together, they would decide the final fate of the One Ring, and settle on a course of action against the rising power of Sauron.

"Honoured guests who have come from afar, and allies of long standing, you have been summoned here to meet the threat of Mordor," Elrond began.

"Middle-earth stands once more on the edge of upheaval. The fate of all our peoples is bound together. We must stand united and face the Enemy as one."

His opening words delivered, he gave a slight nod.

"Ring-bearer, come forward. Frodo."

Frodo walked to the stone plinth and set the Ring down.

The moment it left his hand, a weight fell from his heart as well. It was as if he had at last put down some crushing burden. He let out a breath of relief.

Every eye in the circle turned at once to the One Ring. Low murmurs began.

From that moment, the Ring's influence began to show. Unease crept through the gathering. Though they spoke to one another, not one of them looked away from it.

Once the council had quieted, Gandalf, Elrond, and Bilbo stood and recounted the history and origins of the One Ring, doing all they could to convey the evil power it held.

"It is a thing of utter malice," Gandalf finished.

"I do not agree," a voice said.

Boromir rose to his feet. His eyes were fixed on the Ring. Step by step, he moved closer.

"I had a dream," he said. "In it, endless shadow covered the world, but through the shadow a light broke. A voice told me that the Bane of Isildur had been found. It is the Enemy's weapon, yes, but could it not also become a tool for the Free Peoples?"

"If Gondor held it, we could surely—"

His eyes grew distant.

Bearing all the hope of Gondor on his shoulders, his will was bent too far by need.

And so he became the first to fall under its sway.

Will save: failed.

Boromir reached out, fingers stretching towards the Ring.

In that brief pause, Aragorn and Legolas traded a glance, then both looked towards Levi.

As a mark of respect, Levi had been placed last in the speaking order for this council. His turn had not yet come, so he had kept silent.

Feeling their eyes on him, Levi thought for a moment, then winked at them and gave a calm nod. Then he did nothing else.

The Man and the Elf considered, then settled back down and abandoned their half-formed intent to intervene.

Now it was Levi who was puzzled.

Wait, I nodded to tell you two to get up and stop him. Why are you sitting down again?

Did you plan this? Are you trying to mess with me on purpose?

Just as Boromir was about to lose himself entirely, Levi drew breath and was rising to his feet to calm the room when Elrond's voice rang out.

"Boromir!"

The young captain flinched as if struck.

At the same moment, foul, evil words in the Black Speech poured from Gandalf's mouth.

"One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them."

Four lines, all of them inscribed upon the One Ring itself.

As the Black Speech echoed through the valley, all Rivendell fell into shadow. Thunder rolled across the sky. Golden leaves were shaken from the trees. Dust and fragments of stone fell from nearby buildings.

Elrond pressed a hand to his forehead. He felt as though his hair might fall out from sheer exasperation.

This was but a sliver of Sauron's power at its height. With words alone, he could twist the very air of a region, dragging it down into darkness.

No matter what else could be said, Sauron was still one of the Maiar. Not the strongest among them, perhaps, but far from weak.

In the shadows, Levi and Glorfindel met each other's eyes and shook their heads.

This was not a direct attack. It was more akin to a phenomenon. Neither of them had a clean way to counter it.

Elrond, for his part, was furious at Gandalf's rash act. It was a true and rare anger from him.

Those four short lines had affected not only the assembled council, but all of Rivendell. Every Elf in the valley had been shaken by that sudden bloom of evil.

But Elrond was famously even-tempered.

Once Gandalf had offered his sincere apology and admitted his error, Elrond let the matter rest.

"I do not ask your forgiveness, Lord Elrond," Gandalf said. "But if I had not done so, none here would understand its true peril, nor what despair will fall upon us when those words are spoken across all of Middle-earth."

"This is a gift," someone said stubbornly.

Once he had recovered, Boromir stood again.

"Why should we not use this Ring?" he asked.

Remembering what had been said earlier—"One Ring to rule them all"—he pressed on.

"If we hold it, the Ringwraiths themselves must bow. They will be no threat at all."

"Gondor has sacrificed too much holding back Mordor and the powers of the South. If we could only put it to proper use—"

"You cannot wield it. No one here can," Aragorn cut in. "The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It will serve no other master."

"And what would a mere ranger know of such things?" Boromir shot back.

At that, Legolas leapt to his feet.

"He is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

"Aragorn? Heir of Isildur?" Boromir said slowly.

"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king."

Sigh.

Watching this unfold, Levi let out a long breath.

"Boromir. Sit down," he said.

At once, every eye turned to him.

Boromir's words caught in his throat. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

After a pause, he returned meekly to his seat and fell silent.

Yes, Gondor had bled and sacrificed, and the burden was great. But the North bore no less. They had withstood even greater pressure.

They only looked at ease because someone very tall was standing at the front, flanked by a host of hardened warriors, holding the line.

All peace, all safety, existed because someone stood in the dangerous places and bore everything.

But if he could take the One Ring, perhaps he could become that tall man as well. He could stand at the most dangerous point and hold back all that pressure, meet the Enemy head-on, and then drive into Mordor itself and cast Sauron down into ruin.

And afterwards, destroy the Ring. Surely he would not repeat such an obvious, well-documented mistake?

It would all be to end the threat for good, to give people lasting peace and safety. What was wrong with that?

Remembering again what his father had said before he left, Boromir slowly closed his eyes and let out a silent sigh.

Beneath that hard exterior, that hunger for strength, lay a heart stretched tight with worry.

His father's hopes. The people's fervour. The trust of his brother and his comrades. All of Gondor seemed to rest on his shoulders, and he could barely stand straight under the weight.

Pat.

A hand came down on his weary, burdened shoulder. The warmth of the gauntlet was almost too hot.

"Do not trouble yourself so, Boromir," Levi said.

"Do you remember? I told you once: if anything happens, you come and tell me. I am here. I will help."

"Or do you need a hug?"

Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 358

Chapter 358: A Quiet Council

“In the worst case, we fight another War of the Last Alliance.”

In the little council of three, Levi laid out his final, fallback plan.

“At this point, none of the powers that fought that war could muster even a third of their old strength,” Elrond said at once, shaking his head.

Then he caught the look on Levi’s face and checked himself.

Ah, yes. Things were no longer what they had been.

Since the end of the Second Age, Elves had been sailing West in shipload after shipload, leaving few behind. The kingdoms of Men had fallen into division and decay, each fighting its own battles and mostly losing them.

The Dwarves had fared no better. Their halls were lost, their fortunes ruined. They had crept ever deeper underground, turning their backs on the world above.

That was how the world had looked a hundred years ago.

But now…

Now there were the Free Cities, and the lord who ruled them. If one thought only of attacking strength and not defence, Levi alone could set in the field numbers to match those ancient hosts.

It could be done. There truly could be another war on that scale.

“But that is only a reserve measure,” Levi went on.

“Speaking for myself, I do not want to take that road unless there is no other choice.”

A war of that size was no jest. Once it began, both sides would throw everything they had into it. Even with the gear and training of the Free Cities, the losses would be bitter.

Mordor’s hardened legions were not like the remnants of Angmar, ground down by ten years of campaigning, nor like the rabble of the Misty Mountains, leaderless and poorly armed.

Against those, with Levi at their head, the Free Cities had seemed an axe through rotted wood.

Against Mordor, nothing could be taken for granted.

Under the weight of that dark will, such a war could only be fought head-on, blow for blow.

Even if every ally took the field, it would be a brutal struggle. A harder nut to crack, by far, than Angmar at its height. Closer to a march through the very pits of torment.

Not impossible.

Simply… costly.

In this, Levi had always been stubbornly conservative.

Gandalf listened and shook his head. Elrond said nothing.

To fight or not to fight: that choice rested with Levi alone. Until things had gone very far indeed, neither of them had the standing to press him to open such a war. The turmoil it would unleash was not something they could bear, nor could they answer for it.

Even so, his words eased them a little.

At least, there was now a power in the world that could meet the Enemy in the open, without every misstep leading straight into ruin.

Letting that subject drop for now, Levi thought back to the faces he had seen on his way in.

“I saw Legolas just now,” he said. “And the Grey Havens have sent a messenger as well, though Círdan himself has not come.”

“It matters not,” Elrond said.

“Galdor can speak in Círdan’s name.”

Galdor, Círdan’s messenger, had come chiefly to confirm the tales of the Ring’s reappearance. As for Círdan himself…

“He is watching the Sea in the Havens, in case some Enemy comes out of it,” Elrond said.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Levi said, clapping his hands once.

“The Water-city should be sending ships to watch the Sea as well. Let me think… perhaps station a single Praxis-class warship in the gulf between Minhiriath and Enedwaith.”

Gandalf nodded.

“Sound thinking. With a vessel of that class, a single ship would be enough to overawe any hostile fleet,” he said.

“And if need be, it can always sail away…”

The talk on the terrace went on.

Beyond Rivendell’s borders, the messengers of many lands were drawing near.

Elves. Dwarves. Men. Hobbits.

Some came chasing the answer to dreams and riddling visions. Some came to learn tidings. Some had simply been brought there by chance.

And some had been there all along.

“By the way, where is Aragorn?” Levi asked when their private council broke up.

The question did nothing to improve Elrond’s mood.

“He…” Elrond only shook his head.

Levi understood at once.

Ah, yes. Arwen was in Rivendell at this time as well.

With a rare spell of leisure before them, the two of them would hardly waste it.

…

The night before the council.

Aragorn stood before the shards of Narsil, deep in thought.

The sound of footsteps behind him broke his reverie.

Boromir.

Following some wordless prompting in his heart, Gondor’s foremost captain had wandered there, step by step.

He took in the mural of the War of the Last Alliance, the black-armoured figure on it with the Ring upon his hand, and then the broken sword.

For a long moment, he was silent.

“Welcome to the North,” Aragorn said at last.

He was honestly surprised to see Boromir here, but he spoke first, and Boromir at last realised he was not alone.

The old ranger’s knack for going unseen was as keen as ever.

Boromir turned and gave him a small nod.

“You are?” he asked.

“A ranger, and a friend to Gandalf and Levi,” Aragorn said.

“Oh? Then it seems we have both come here seeking ‘friends’,” Boromir said.

He shook his head, then looked back at the shards of Narsil. He reached out, lifted one piece, and turned it in his hands, muttering.

“The shards of Narsil. This is the sword that cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand,” he said.

“Even after all these years, it still shines sharp.”

Tss—

As his fingers slid along the edge, the broken blade suddenly sliced his skin.

Staring at the blood welling on his fingertip, Boromir remembered a lesser-known tale.

They said that Narsil had a will of its own. It would only serve the master worthy to wield it. Any other hand that touched it would be hurt.

And when that rightful wielder was near, it would grow keener.

Plainly, that man was not Boromir.

He whipped his head round to stare at Aragorn.

Aragorn met his gaze in silence.

“Nothing but a broken relic,” Boromir snapped.

He dropped the sword-shard and strode away without looking back.

He could not bring himself to accept that this stranger, this wanderer he had never met before tonight, was the king he was meant to swear to.

To follow a man he had never laid eyes on? Absurd.

Or so he thought.

He did not know that his own father and Aragorn knew one another very well indeed, and that the deeds Aragorn had done in Gondor’s service outshone even Denethor’s, praised by many tongues.

Denethor had never told his sons any of it.

There were many tangled reasons for that.

He knew the truth well enough. He simply refused to admit it, or to face it.

Rustle…

Once Boromir had gone, another figure slipped quietly into the chamber.

Her steps made no sound. Only the faint whisper of cloth on cloth marked her passing.

Aragorn turned and smiled.

Yes. This had been his true purpose in lingering here. Boromir’s arrival had been pure chance.

“Arwen,” he said.

He spoke her name aloud.

They talked and laughed together, savouring that brief spell of peace.

But Aragorn had misjudged one thing.

Sleepless, Frodo had wandered out to walk off his restlessness, and by chance came on them there.

Seeing the two of them leaning close together, Frodo remembered the tale Aragorn had once told him, of the love between an Elf and a Man.

“How romantic,” he murmured.

Fortunately, the young Hobbit had some sense of courtesy.

He watched from afar for a little while, then quietly withdrew, leaving them undisturbed.

Only then did Aragorn and Arwen have a moment of true, private quiet.

But peaceful hours never last long.

One Piece: The Dragon All-Star - 189

Chapter 189: The End of the Donquixote Family

Wano Country, inside the Shogun’s castle.

“Tch. The Marines sure move fast,” Kai said.

He set down the latest issue of the World Economy News, voice tinged with pity. “Doffy, your Warlord title has already been revoked.”

“That was inevitable,” Robin answered lightly from his side. “The Marines have no use for a defeated, captured Warlord to decorate their roster.”

Kneeling below them, Doflamingo said nothing.

Heavy Sea Prism Stone shackles weighed on his wrists and ankles. He did not even bother to raise his head.

It was as if nothing in the outside world had anything to do with him anymore.

Seeing the supposed star of the show utterly unresponsive, Kai lost interest and folded the paper.

“Law. How do you want to deal with your enemy?” he asked.

“Me? I get to decide?” Law pointed at himself, stunned.

Kai nodded. “Whether you kill him or lock him up, it is your call.”

As for recruiting him?

Kai did not even consider it.

Three years ago, he might have put some effort into winning Doflamingo over.

Now?

Doflamingo simply was not strong enough anymore to be worth special treatment.

At that moment, the man who had been silent all this time finally stirred.

Doflamingo forced his head up.

Between his injuries and the Sea Prism Stone, he looked weak, but the eyes hidden behind his broken lenses were still sharp.

“Kai,” he rasped. “Is this your idea of a joke? Letting this brat decide my fate?”

Letting Trafalgar Law—the sick orphan the family had taken in, who had never even been a full member—decide the fate of Donquixote Doflamingo?

He refused to accept it.

“You are the one who has the wrong idea,” Kai said.

He leaned forward slightly, looking down at Doflamingo with an easy, cold curve to his lips.

“You are my prisoner. Prisoners do not get choices.”

He turned his gaze back to Law.

“Well? What is your decision?” he said.

All at once, the Donquixote officers turned to stare at Law.

Despair and pleading filled their eyes.

“Oi, Law, don’t kill the young master!” someone shouted.

“Have you forgotten who took you in when you were sick and homeless?” Baby 5 sobbed, voice cracking as she screamed at him, trying to claw up some lingering affection for the family, for their lord.

But she had no idea how much Rosinante meant to Law.

Her words did not soften him.

They froze his eyes to steel.

“I choose… to kill him,” Law said.

“Fine,” Kai replied. “Do it yourself.”

Law drew a long breath and stepped up to Doflamingo.

Kikoku slid slowly free, its pale edge catching the light.

“Any last words?” Law asked.

His voice was cold as ice.

“Last words, huh…” Doflamingo turned his head with effort, looking past Law at the officers bound and weeping behind him.

A strange, almost peaceful smile tugged at his mouth.

At last he looked back at Kai.

“Fuffuffuffu… If you’re willing… take in these foolish subordinates of mine,” he said.

“Young master!”

“Doffy!”

The officers broke down at once, cries ripping out of their throats.

Even with his life about to end, their lord was thinking of their safety.

“I will grant that,” Kai said.

He agreed without hesitation.

He did not care about most of them.

But he did have his eye on the Hobby-Hobby Fruit.

What he did not expect was that not a single one of them tried to seize the opening and pledge loyalty.

“Once we are Donquixote, we are Donquixote for life,” Pica said.

His shrill voice might sound comical, but his tone was solid as stone.

“That is right,” Dellinger snapped, boyish face full of resolve. “Even if we die, we will never betray our king.”

“Good. You have not shamed our family,” Trebol laughed, body of slime shaking with emotion.

“Very loyal,” Kai said.

He was not surprised.

Aside from Blackbeard’s crew, most of the “villain” pirate crews on this sea were tightly bound.

Even the loose Rocks Pirates had men like Whitebeard, who would still move for their captain in a pinch.

“Looks like I will not be lonely in hell,” Doflamingo said, drinking in the sight of his comrades’ faces.

He threw his head back and laughed freely.

“Do it,” he told Law. “Never thought I would end up dying to you.”

“You should have thought of that the day you killed Corazon—your own little brother,” Law said.

His voice did not ripple.

Cold light flashed.

A chill bloomed in Doflamingo’s chest.

Pain tore through him as his life bled away.

He used the last of his strength to sweep his gaze over the men who had followed him through so many battles.

Then he slowly closed his eyes.

“Young master!”

“Doffy!”

The officers’ tears poured like rain as they watched him fall.

Law pulled Kikoku free. Beads of blood rolled down the blade.

He looked over Trebol and the others, then up at Kai.

“What about them?” he asked.

With his great enemy finally dead, even his always-feral eyes held a faint softness.

“Send them down to join Doflamingo,” Kai said with a flick of his hand.

If they could not serve him, there was only one path left.

Trebol’s face twisted.

“Well then, we will see you in hell, Kai,” he snarled. “Our family will not forgive you.”

“Family?” Kai raised a brow.

“Thanks for reminding me. You still have an officer in the Marines, do you not? Vergo, the mole?”

Trebol’s face went rigid.

Sweat broke out along his hairline.

How did he know?

The Vergo operation was top secret. Only a handful of core members had ever been told.

Still…

So what if he knew?

Trebol’s mind raced.

If Kai killed Vergo, the clueless Marines would only see a “loyal” Vice Admiral cut down by a pirate.

Marineford would not take that lying down.

They might even go to full war with the Beasts Pirates.

The thought eased something in Trebol’s chest.

A mean sort of hope flickered to life.

Then Kai did something that stunned every prisoner present.

He reached into his coat, took out a Den Den Mushi, and dialed a number right in front of them.

Buru buru buru…

The line clicked open.

“Hello?” a steady, slightly weathered voice said.

The Den Den Mushi’s features shifted.

A Marine cap, a braided beard at the chin—the face it mimicked was unmistakable.

“Moshi moshi. Is this old man Sengoku?” Kai said cheerfully, as if greeting an old friend.

S-Sengoku.

They did not mean that Sengoku.

The Sengoku.

The Donquixote officers stared, eyes bulging.

A chill crawled up Trebol’s spine.

He could not seriously be…

Was a pirate really about to report another pirate to the Marines?

But the more he dreaded it, the more surely it unfolded.

“I am Kai,” he said. “Calling to report that you have a pirate mole in your ranks.”

He played the enthusiastic citizen while every prisoner watched in stunned silence.

“Vergo. They call him ‘Demon Bamboo.’ Nine years ago, he joined the Marines on Doflamingo’s orders as a plant. He should be a Vice Admiral by now, right?”

“You people really need to tighten up your background checks. A pirate mole climbed all the way to Vice Admiral and you never noticed. At this rate, how are you supposed to keep up with us pirates?”

Kai chuckled, voice light and teasing.

On the other end, Sengoku’s mood was anything but.

“How did you learn this?” he asked.

“Do not worry about that,” Kai said.

“I am just borrowing your knife. Believe me or do not. Your choice.”

His bluntness made the Den Den Mushi’s imitation of Sengoku’s face twitch visibly.

Borrowing the knife, is it?

Click.

The call cut off with a sharp sound.

“Tch. Still so hot-tempered at his age,” Kai said.

He glanced at the now-busy tone snail and shrugged.

Then he looked back down at the Donquixote officers, whose faces had gone ashen.

“Well. There goes your last bit of wishful thinking,” he said with a pleasant smile.

“Now you can head out with empty hands.”

He crooked a finger at Fukurokuju, standing at his side.

He was not planning to have Law swing the blade again.

A doctor did not need too much blood on his hands.

Fukurokuju bowed slightly and went to give the order.

The ninja under him dragged Trebol and the others out of the hall to be executed.

Only when rough hands seized him did Trebol seem to wake up.

“You damned Kai!” he screamed. “You call yourself a pirate? Colluding with the Marines? You will die a dog’s death—”

The other officers joined in, hurling curses twisted by despair.

They did not get many lines out.

The ninja moved fast, gagging them and cutting their voices down to muffled, hopeless sounds.

Kai ignored them.

Their words were gnats buzzing at the edge of hearing.

He lowered his head and picked up his pen, returning to the stack of documents awaiting his signature.

They were dead men. Let them rant.

The papers mattered more.

King Riku, who had handled much of this work for him, had already gone home to Dressrosa with his family.

With no one else to dump it on, Kai had to wrestle with the paperwork again.

Before long, the dull thuds of blades meeting flesh throbbed from beyond the doors, brief and dense.

The last of the muffled cries faded into silence.

Once the deaths were confirmed, the ninja dragged the bodies away.

Waiting maids filed in with buckets and cloths and scrubbed the floors with long-practiced efficiency.

In a matter of minutes, the hall was spotless again.

As if nothing at all had happened.

And the Donquixote Family, once feared in the underworld and notorious across the seas…

On this day, in this hour, it became dust in history.

Compared to the clean finality on Kai’s side, Marine Headquarters was chaos.

Sengoku’s face had gone almost black the moment he hung up.

He did not waste a second.

He summoned Vice Admiral Tsuru and relayed Kai’s call to her word-for-word.

“I remember this Vergo,” Sengoku said.

His fingers tapped the desk without thinking. “In his first year as a Marine, his performance stood out. Decisive, ruthless—almost to excess. I assumed at the time it was just his way of pursuing justice. In hindsight… his motives deserve a closer look.”

Tsuru listened in silence, frown deepening.

Eventually she let out a slow sigh.

“Having a pirate expose this makes us look like fools,” she said. “But Kai’s call does give a very tidy explanation for G-5’s… ‘unique’ methods.”

Like a controversial anecdote historians use to suddenly tie together a string of old riddles, the idea of Vergo as a plant slid into place as a missing puzzle piece.

All at once, things that had nagged at her for years lined up.

G-5’s pirate-like habits.

Its refusal to follow Headquarters’ orders.

The truly ugly behavior—like slaughtering defeated pirates.

Looking back, the change in atmosphere seemed to trace back to when Vergo had been sent to G-5 and slowly taken control.

“At this point, whether Kai’s motive is pure or not, whether he is lying or not, we have to conduct a full internal review of Vergo,” Tsuru said.

Her voice was cool and firm.

“I want you to handle this entirely,” Sengoku replied.

He met his old comrade’s eyes.

Trust shone there, and a touch of guilt.

He knew exactly what this assignment meant.

Still, he hardened his tone and spoke the words clearly.

“If… if Vergo really is what Kai claims, you will lead a special task force and carry out a complete investigation of the Marines from top to bottom.”

It would mean putting knives to countless entrenched interests.

It might tear open more hidden rot than they knew existed.

The shock would be immense.

“I understand,” Tsuru said.

She did not hesitate.

Her old, sharp eyes were clear and steady.

No one knew better than she did how many colleagues and factions she would offend by taking this on.

The trail might even lead upward to the World Government itself, maybe to the Celestial Dragons.

But for the future of the Marines, some abscesses had to be cut out.

“I am sorry, Tsuru,” Sengoku murmured, eyes dropping.

“Heh. For these old bones to still do some real good for the Marines at the end… sounds like the best use of my time to me,” she said with a small laugh.

“If the pushback gets too heavy, just fire this old woman.”

She waved a hand carelessly and turned to go.