The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 586-595: When Night Falls 6

The Death Eaters were engaged in a heated discussion.

In response to speculation that Dumbledore was dead.

Many Death Eaters are actually still afraid of Dumbledore's power.

Just like their master.

"uncertain."

Another Death Eater shook his head, his voice even more cautious, "Dumbledore isn't that easy to kill. Maybe he deliberately spread false information to lure us in."

This is a Death Eater with brains.

however.

"Fake news? Half of Azkaban is destroyed! All the Dementors have escaped! Grindelwald has betrayed us! Are all these rumors false?" There aren't many truly intelligent Death Eaters.

It's no exaggeration to say that black magic can corrupt people's minds and brains.

"That old madman Grindelwald is unreliable. He might have already conspired with Dumbledore."

"Collusion? Didn't you see how Dumbledore fell from the sky? There was such a big hole in his chest, and Fiendfyre was still burning. How could that be collusion?"

'

The argument grew more heated and the voices louder until a cold, gentle voice rang out behind them: "Enough."

The two Death Eaters froze simultaneously, then whirled around.

Voldemort stood behind them. His body was hidden in the shadows, only his three scarlet eyes burned in the darkness.

They looked like three stars from hell.

"Master—Master—" The two Death Eaters knelt down at the same time, their foreheads pressed against the cold ground, their bodies trembling.

Voldemort didn't speak, but simply watched them silently for a long time. His gaze was cold and calm, like an abyss staring at its prey.

Then he spoke slowly, his voice soft and hoarse: "What about Dumbledore?"

A Death Eater trembled as he said, "Reporting to the master, Nicolas Flamel took him away. There's been no news since. The Ministry of Magic—they're tight-lipped; our people haven't been able to get access to the core information."

Voldemort remained silent for a few seconds. That silence nearly stopped the hearts of the two Death Eaters.

"Where's Grindelwald?"

"And—there's still no news. Some say they saw him flying east, others say they saw him crash in the North Sea, but nothing has been confirmed. He might also be looking for a place to recover."

Voldemort's lips curled up slightly, revealing a cold, inhuman smile.

"Where's the raven?"

The two Death Eaters exchanged a glance, both seeing fear in each other's eyes.

"Reporting to our master—" one of the Death Eaters began with difficulty, "We consulted some ancient texts. Records about ravens are scarce, but we found some—"

He pulled a roll of yellowed parchment from his pocket, held it high with both hands. The parchment was covered with ancient writing and some blurry, faded illustrations.

"The ancient texts say that the raven is—the embodiment of destiny. Where it appears, great changes often follow. But it is not irredeemable—" The Death Eater, kneeling on the ground, trembled as he turned to the next page of the parchment, his voice shaking slightly with fear and excitement.

Ancient text on the parchment gleamed faintly in the candlelight, and faded illustrations depicted a giant black bird struggling amidst the aurora borealis.

"Oh? You found something like this?" Voldemort took the parchment, his three scarlet eyes focusing simultaneously on the ancient writing. He read it in silence, while the Death Eaters around him dared not breathe, only the sound of their own heartbeats echoing in their ears.

The contents recorded on the parchment were far more detailed than what the Death Eater had recounted.

It is a legend from a thousand years ago. In the permafrost of the Arctic, where the aurora never stops, there is an ancient ruin known as the "Fortress of Solitude".

It was one of the last creations left behind by the ancient Titans, specifically designed to imprison those beings unbound by fate. And the raven—a mysterious being referred to in ancient texts as the "embodiment of fate"—was one of the targets that fortress once imprisoned.

"In the Fortress of Solitude lies an alchemical artifact called the Mirror of Exile." Voldemort recited the ancient text, his voice soft and hoarse, like the hiss of a snake. "It does not destroy, but exiles. It strips the object's existence from the tapestry of reality and casts it into eternal nothingness. The exiled no longer exists in any time, any space, any possibility. As if they were never born."

Voldemort got excited as he read on.

He put down the parchment, and the three scarlet eyes burned with an increasingly intense light.

"As if it had never been born—" he murmured, repeating the phrase, a grotesque, inhuman grin spreading across his lips.

well."

Voldemort whirled around, looking at the Death Eaters kneeling on the ground. His gaze was like a tangible flame, causing everyone to involuntarily lower their heads.

Their foreheads were pressed against the cold ground.

It was as if they were meeting with a king.

"This fortress," Voldemort said excitedly, his voice soft yet dangerous, "Where is it?"

The Death Eater holding the parchment trembled as he said, "Reporting to the master, the ancient texts don't specify the exact location, only that it's in the far north, where the aurora never ceases. It's the boundary between eternal night and eternal day, the chasm between reality and illusion. Ordinary detection magic can't find it; only—"

He paused, seemingly hesitant about whether to continue.

"Only what?" Voldemort's voice was even softer, yet it carried an irresistible pressure.

"Only those who are also marked by fate can perceive its existence." After saying this, the Death Eater collapsed to the ground, his back soaked with cold sweat.

People marked by fate.

Voldemort was silent for a few seconds, then slowly raised his hand, looking at the hand that was no longer human. Dark skin, twisted joints, sharp barbs at the fingertips, and tiny, wriggling tentacles extending from the wrist.

He closed his eyes, feeling the surging power within him, a power from deep space—a power that coursed through every vein in his body, roared through every strand of his soul, and whispered in every thought.

He was not a man marked by fate.

He was chosen by deep space.

Even more amazing!

Realizing this, he opened his eyes, his three scarlet eyes burning with unprecedented confidence.

"Get ready." Voldemort was indeed arrogant enough. He spoke, his voice calm but undeniable, "I'm going to the North Pole myself."

The Death Eaters looked at each other, some wanting to say something, but kept quiet under Voldemort's gaze.

"Master, um—" Finally, the most senior Death Eater mustered up the courage to speak, "The Arctic's permafrost is an extremely harsh environment, and—and there might be ancient protective magic there. Shouldn't we send someone to scout ahead first?"

"I said it!" Voldemort interrupted him, his voice as soft as a whisper, yet it sent a chill down everyone's spine.

I want to go myself.

He stopped speaking, simply raising his hand and waving it gently. A jet-black, almost tangible cloud of smoke erupted from his body, instantly engulfing him. The smoke swirled and expanded, forming a massive vortex in the center of the room before abruptly contracting.

Voldemort disappeared.

Only the Death Eaters who were kneeling on the ground remained, not daring to get up for a long time.

at the same time.

Arctic.

The land of permafrost.

Voldemort's figure appeared on an endless white wasteland.

There is neither day nor night here. In the sky, green, purple, and blue auroras drift slowly like a giant curtain in the eternal darkness.

The aurora borealis enveloped the entire land in a dreamlike, unreal glow. Beneath my feet, the ice was thousands of meters thick, incredibly ancient, its crystals, frozen for millions of years, shimmering with a deep blue light under the aurora. The wind was strong, howling across the ice field.

It whips up tiny ice shards that feel like knives cutting your face.

The temperature here was low enough to freeze any ordinary person to death within minutes, but Voldemort simply stood there, letting the biting cold wind whip his contorted body without the slightest discomfort.

He closed his eyes, feeling this ancient land. His senses extended in all directions, penetrating the ice, penetrating the rock, penetrating the permafrost thousands of meters thick, downward, downward, and downward again—

Then, he felt it.

It was an extremely faint, almost imperceptible resonance. It came from deep underground, from somewhere thousands of meters below the ice. The frequency of that resonance resonated subtly and ineffably with the deep-space power within his soul.

He opened his eyes, a ferocious smile spreading across his face.

"Found it."

His body transformed into a black streak of light, flying deep into the ice field. The aurora borealis swirled above his head, and the ice field receded rapidly beneath his feet. He flew over frozen mountains, over bottomless ice crevasses, and over the remains of ancient, fossilized creatures frozen for millions of years.

Finally, he stopped in front of a huge ice cliff.

The ice cliffs soared into the clouds, shimmering with a deep blue light under the aurora borealis. Their surfaces were smooth as mirrors, reflecting the eternally shifting aurora in the sky. But beneath that smooth surface, Voldemort could sense something slumbering.

He raised that inhuman hand and gently pressed it onto the ice.

The ice melted and evaporated beneath his palm, revealing ancient rock beneath. This rock was no ordinary stone, but a metallic black substance Voldemort had never seen before. Engraved on this black substance were countless, extremely ancient runes—runes far more complex and profound than any ancient script he had ever seen, each symbol seemingly possessing the power to alter reality.

The script of the Titans.

Voldemort's heart—if he still had a heart—beat suddenly.

He continued digging down, following the trail of runes. Layer by layer, the ice melted, and layer by layer, the rock crumbled away, finally revealing a corner of the ancient structure.

That was a door.

A massive stone gate, ten meters high. The gate was black, gleaming with a metallic sheen, and covered with ancient Titan runes.

In the very center of the door, there was a huge groove, the shape of which was quite strange.

Voldemort stared at the raven's silhouette, his three scarlet eyes burning with intense light.

"The Fortress of Loneliness," he murmured, a barely suppressed excitement in his voice. "I've found it."

He raised his hand and placed his palm on the raven-shaped groove. Black magic surged from his palm, flowing into the ancient runes. The runes lit up simultaneously, bursting forth with a blinding blue light, and the entire ice cliff began to tremble!

Then, the stone door slowly opened.

Beyond the door lay a deep, downward-sloping passage. The walls on either side were also covered with ancient Titan runes, emitting a faint blue glow that illuminated the path ahead. At the end of the passage lay an unfathomable abyss of darkness.

Voldemort did not hesitate. He stepped into the passage.

His footsteps echoed through the silent passage, each step carrying an impatient urgency. The runes flickered slightly as he passed, as if welcoming his arrival, yet also warning him—this was not the place for him.

But he didn't stop.

He walked through the long passageway, past ancient, rusted mechanisms, past murals depicting the battle between Titans and ravens, past faded stone tablets recording ancient history. Finally, he arrived at the end of the passageway.

There, there was an even bigger door.

There were no runes or grooves on the door, only a single sentence—engraved in ancient Titan script, faintly visible in the blue light: "This place can imprison the embodiment of fate. Mortals behold. Gods are forbidden."

Voldemort looked at the sentence and remained silent for a few seconds.

Then he smiled.

The laughter was low and hoarse, like countless pieces of glass scraping against each other, echoing in the silent passage and creating eerie sounds.

"Mortals are forbidden to enter?"

He muttered, a crazed light burning in his three scarlet eyes, "Gods beware?"

He raised his hand and shoved the door open.

Behind the door.

Behind the door was not the spacious hall he had expected, but a deep, downward-sloping passageway. On the walls on both sides of the passageway, the ancient Titan runes no longer emitted a gentle blue light, but instead shimmered with an eerie, blood-red hue.

The air here is no longer cold, but damp and sultry, carrying a nauseating smell of decay, as if this ruin was not built under the permafrost of the Arctic.

It was not a tomb that had been forgotten for thousands of years.

"Nowhere can stop me from entering!"

Voldemort was extremely arrogant.

He stepped into the passageway.

The stone door behind them slammed shut, the loud sound echoing through the silent passageway, creating eerie echoes.

Voldemort did not turn around. His three scarlet eyes burned in the darkness, illuminating a few steps ahead. The dark red runes flickered slightly as he passed.

It was as if they were watching him, or as if they were mocking his intrusion.

The passageway was very long. Voldemort walked for a long time, so long that he began to wonder if it had any end. Murals began to appear on the walls on both sides—not the previous murals depicting the battle between Titans and ravens, but something much older and more primitive.

The pattern was almost unrecognizable to Voldemort.

"What the hell is that?!"

Voldemort frowned, but did not attempt to decipher it. He had only one purpose in coming here: to find the magical alchemical artifact that could deal with the raven.

Well, how should I put it?

He did take the bait.

He didn't actually know about the so-called ruins here; they were just things Ian had created overnight.