The Return to Hogwarts

Louise finally figured out what the thumping sound was.

The beggar in the solitary confinement cell was holding a hunting rifle, and he was frantically pounding the wooden stock of the rifle against the concrete floor of the room, his movements mechanical but powerful.

At first glance, the old man, who appeared to be insane, had a blank expression, but his turbid pupils, set in his dirty face, were bloodshot. His bulging eyes were fixed on the ground as he repeatedly swung the heavy butt of his gun and slammed it down.

"What are you doing."

Louise was stunned, and asked blankly.

Louise's voice was very soft. Her question was not an expectation that this seemingly crazy beggar would explain his absurd behavior, but rather a bewildered muttering to herself. However, the beggar in the solitary confinement was exceptionally perceptive and immediately caught Louise's unclear voice amidst the rustling of the wind through the weeds.

The beggar suddenly raised his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the three uninvited guests who had barged into his dwelling without permission.

The light in those eyes, which had lost their minds, went from utter terror to confusion to ferocity in just two breaths. Then, in Louise's bewildered gaze, still not understanding what was going on, the beggar with a ferocious expression decisively raised his gun, the dark muzzle exuding an aura of death, and pointed it at Amosta Blaine!

"Be careful!!!"

Louise only had time to scream the word in a terrified, shrill voice; she didn't even have time to push Amosta, whose arms were hanging limply at his sides, to the side.

boom!

Under the bright sun, a gunshot rang out across the wilderness, startling countless birds that had been lying in wait to peck at grass seeds!

call---

The wind that had been swirling in the courtyard suddenly turned fierce, and the smoke and dust whipped up by the foul wind filled the air, obscuring the pale sunlight.

A barrier had appeared at some point less than ten feet in front of Amosta.

This transparent barrier is like both the surface of water with ripples and the air that has changed its properties and become incredibly viscous.

A round iron bead, still glowing faintly red, hovered in the very center of the barrier, swaying like a fallen leaf on water with the slight undulations of the barrier, but it could not advance any further.

pat-

Gazing at the bullet that had lost its kinetic energy and the transparent ripples that bound it, Louise, her hair disheveled by the wind, pushed Amosta's arms and fell to the ground with a thud, her face deathly pale.

Silent spellcasting and staffless spellcasting—

Kingsley looked at Amosta Blaine, whose hands were empty and whose expression remained unchanged, with great admiration.

He wasn't sure if Amosta's magical barrier was the Armor Charm, or some more advanced white magic of protection, but even if it was the Armor Charm, the skill in casting spells silently and without a staff was beyond his reach.

Kingsley glanced again at Louise, whose mouth was slightly agape, hesitated only for a moment, and then slipped his wand into his palm.

"Eliminate your weapon--"

With a whoosh, the shotgun in the wanderer's hand left his grasp and fell into Kingsley's hands.

The homeless man in the solitary confinement cell looked no better than Louise; he remained motionless, gun in hand, with a blank, expressionless face.

But as time went by, the dazed look on the homeless man's face disappeared, and fear gradually rose in his cloudy eyes, as if he had recalled some terrifying memories. This fear was so intense that his emaciated body began to tremble. At a certain moment, the homeless man suddenly let out a strange cry like a crow, and abruptly shrank to the wall.

The homeless man huddled his head in the crook of his arm, trembling uncontrollably, emitting mournful sobs that evoked pity.

“This person—” Kingsley said hesitantly.

“I think you guessed right, Kingsley—”

Amosta nodded slightly, his deep, unfathomable gaze discerning the situation of the wanderer.

"He suffered considerable torment, probably from the Cruciatus Curse—"

Amosta and Kingsley left Louise's side one after the other. Amosta stood in front of the wanderer and bowed slightly.

"Mr. Pastor?"

The wanderer didn't respond; he hugged his head tightly, not daring to look at Amosta and Kingsley.

With a heavy sigh, Amosta grasped the wand that had slipped from his palm and gently pointed it at the top of the wanderer's head. As a milky white halo with a faint blue tinge spread out, Onisto Pastore's body stopped trembling. His entire body lay flat unconsciously and floated slowly in mid-air, with only his pair of lifeless eyes still open.

Amostah ignored the further damage this action inflicted on Louise's shattered worldview at the door. He looked down into Pastore's eyes, and the next second, his eyes suddenly flashed with purple light!

Chapter 777 Magic Exists (Part 2)

2024-02-29

Pain—endless pain shatters all clear cognition and reason.

Darkness suddenly fell before his eyes, and when the light returned, Amosta found himself standing in a world filled with endless chaos.

Above, the dark red, gloomy sky was occasionally flashed with jet-black lightning. Below, in the void, lay a turbulent sea, and the howling wind around them was a mixture of wailing and lamentation.

Amosta's expression was cold and stern. He stood in the void, silently looking down at the surging ocean below.

This chaotic sea is Pastore's consciousness, and every drop of flowing water in the ocean is a thought that has flashed through his mind since he was born. However, under the lash of black lightning and the violent self-collision of the water, all the thoughts stored in the 'water droplets' have been shattered.

Amosta annotated the raging sea, and after a long while, he slowly raised his head to look at the culprit that had caused such chaos in the ocean of consciousness.

With a single step, Amosta appeared at the edge of the sea of ​​consciousness, a sea that floated in the boundless void, beyond which lay absolute darkness.

A colossal vortex, comparable to Charybdis in mythology, churned and devoured the entire sea of ​​consciousness. Every second, this vortex was subjected to thousands upon thousands of thunderous lashes, causing the raging vortex itself to emit painful howls.

Amosta frowned slightly. He looked up at the dark red sky and the black lightning that emerged from nothingness. After a moment of thought, he slowly raised his right hand and spread his fingers towards the sky in a gesture of support.

Golden flames emanated from his palm and gradually changed shape.

Like an umbrella, the golden canopy expanded cautiously in all directions, but even so, the world of consciousness in which Amosta stood trembled slightly as the flames expanded, and everything within his field of vision shook.

Amostah's brow furrowed deeper and deeper. He had to carefully control the flames to avoid destroying the fragile mental world of a Muggle.

Time seemed to have passed for a long time. Finally, a huge curtain of fire appeared above Amosta's head. This golden curtain of fire completely covered the raging vortex beneath him. However, Amosta's expression did not ease.

The lightning bolts that fell from the sky pierced through the defenses he had created—no, not pierced through, but rendered ineffective.

These black lightning bolts were not formed by magic, but by a mental attack caused by the malice contained in the Cruciatus Curse. This was a power from a completely different dimension.

call--

Having confirmed that it was a futile effort, Amosta waved his hand to disperse the flames. He looked up at the black lightning that had sprung from nothingness, squinting as if he were pondering something.

In the material world, several tens of minutes would have passed before Amosta, who had been silent all along, finally took action again.

He pressed his right index and middle fingers together against his forehead—a transparent substance, like clear water, flowed out from where his fingers met his forehead at an extremely slow speed.

This seemed incredibly difficult for Amosta, pulling this power he had never used before from his spiritual body. The 'spring' flowed slowly and instinctively tried to return to Amosta's spiritual body, but with Amosta's persistence, the transparent substance forming the 'canopy' finally covered half of the vortex.

However, Amosta was also exhausted as a result. This was not due to a lack of power, but rather because using the power of the soul was not something Amosta could do at his current level.

However, the defensive effect of the soul power against attacks of evil intent was immediate. The ferocious black lightning struck the transparent sky like rain, but it could not penetrate it, and it could not even make a ripple. The vortex below, which had been constantly being whipped, was thus able to catch its breath.

The whirlpool slowed down, giving a slight rhythm to the previously roaring, agonizing screams. Amostella, whose power had ceased forcing the soul out of the spiritual body, squinted and listened intently.

"You bastard! Stop it, you bastard, get out of Valeria, please don't do that—stop!"

As he listened to the repeated pleas, accompanied by cruel laughter and the girl's sobs, a chilling glint flashed in Amosta's narrowed eyes.

"Mr. Blaine!"

Although a long time had passed in the mental world, only a few seconds had passed in the outside world. Kingsley saw Amosta, who had been leaning forward, take a step back and straighten up. Guessing what he was doing, he immediately asked,

"What did you discover--"

“Very limited, Kingsley—”

The glint in Amosta's eyes faded, and he shook his head gravely.

"As mentioned before, Mr. Pastore suffered from the Crucifixion Curse. Muggles are very fragile mentally, and his consciousness was completely shattered."

Kingsley's gaze fell on Pastore's listless face, a mixture of pity and sadness in his eyes, and at the same time, his own spirits sank.

"This sounds just like what happened to the Longbottoms, and St. Mungo's spent over a decade trying to bring them back to normal—"

"But it wasn't entirely fruitless—"

Amosta had also heard about the torment Neville's parents had suffered. His eyelids twitched slightly, and an idea suddenly occurred to him. However, now was not the time to consider this matter. He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

A burst of laughter suddenly echoed in the cramped room. The voice was young, but filled with cruelty. It was the very same voice that Amosta had heard in Pastore's mind—the voice of the wizard who had tormented him. Even with his consciousness shattered, the fear and hatred for that voice remained deeply rooted in Pastore's mind, almost etched into his soul.

Seeing Kingsley's slightly confused look, Amosta said,

"I suspect the voice doesn't belong to Field Wittersbach, but there's no doubt he's at the heart of the magical research group Fraser belongs to. If we're lucky enough, he might be the one who sent Hermione—"

“Angus Aeschylus.”

Amosta planned to have Kingsley send his Aurors with the 'recording' to the smugglers to compare it with their memories. If they were lucky, it might be the person who secretly infiltrated England and sent Hermione the package.

Even if that's not the case, he still needs Kingsley to send the unfortunate Mr. Pastorley to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries and Sicknesses. If no new clues come to their attention, then while waiting for the results of the investigation into those 'Masters of Curses', he can try to team up with Dumbledore to dig out more clues from Pastorley's memories.

And at this time--

"Angus Aeschylus--"

After witnessing Amosta Blaine block the bullet, Louise's worldview crumbled. She stood frozen in the doorway, watching Amosta brandish a small stick, magically silencing the homeless man and levitating him. She listened to the conversation between Amosta and Kingsley—

Muggles, the Cruciatus Curse, shattered consciousness, cruel laughter echoing in the ears—

The intense sense of absurdity even made Louise faint. She leaned against the door, struggling to stay upright, and stared intently at the two magicians who seemed to have ignored her.

Some thoughts popped into Louise's mind, and at the same time, she was startled to recall some things.

Angus Aeschylus?

Amosta and Kingsley exchanged glances, then simultaneously turned their gazes toward Louise.

Looking at the pale-faced girl at the door, Amosta sighed inwardly. He could easily imagine the torment this girl was going through.