The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 591-600: The Great Wizarding Revolution 2

When faced with questions from their owner.

The Death Eater dared not answer, but simply lowered his head even further.

Voldemort turned around.

Three scarlet eyes looked down at the trembling Death Eater kneeling on the ground. A cold, meaningful smile appeared on his lips.

"Keep investigating." He issued his cautious order: "Raven, Grindelwald, Dumbledore, none of these three can be let go."

The Death Eater nodded quickly, "Yes, Master!"

Just as he was about to leave, Voldemort called him back.

"etc."

The Death Eater stood frozen in place, his body drenched in cold sweat.

Voldemort walked up to him and looked down at him. A strange, unfathomable light flickered in his crimson eyes.

"I need someone," Voldemort said, his voice soft yet dangerous, "someone who is loyal enough, strong enough, and capable enough—to be reformed."

The Death Eater raised his head, a flicker of fear in his eyes, along with an almost irrepressible glimmer of anticipation.

"Master, you want to—"

'

Voldemort raised his hand, interrupting him. He didn't explain, only saying, "Give me the list. Those worth training..."

A person willing to dedicate everything to a cause.

The Death Eater nodded hastily and scrambled out of the room.

Voldemort returned to the stone table and looked down at the mirror. His fingers gently traced the surface, the eerie blue light dancing on his fingertips, reflecting his distorted, inhuman face.

"Raven—" he murmured, "Grindelwald—Dumbledore—"

He laughed. The laugh, coming from his torn mouth full of sharp teeth, looked particularly ferocious and insane.

"You can hide. Go away. Play dead."

He withdrew his hand, turned, and walked out of the secret chamber. The tentacles swayed gently behind him, like some kind of celebratory dance.

"Soon, you will all have nowhere to hide."

In the corridor, the Death Eater knelt on the ground, a long roll of parchment spread out before him. The parchment was covered with names—the most loyal Death Eaters who were willing to give everything for Voldemort.

Voldemort walked to the parchment and looked down at the names. His own light swept over each name, lingering on some for a longer time.

Some only flash by.

"What exactly is the master trying to do?" The Death Eaters, kneeling on the ground, dared not breathe, only hearing the roar of their own heartbeats in their ears.

Voldemort's finger hovered above the parchment, moving slowly. Finally, it stopped on a name—Bellatrix Lestrange.

The name gleamed faintly in the dim candlelight, as if it had been waiting for this moment. The Death Eaters, kneeling on the ground, held their breath, not daring to look up, yet they could feel the cold, suffocating pressure emanating from their master's fingertips. It was the aura of deep space.

It was a whisper from beyond dimensions, the pure, chaotic will that Voldemort actively released for the first time after gaining legendary power.

"Bella," Voldemort murmured the name softly, his voice as gentle as a lover's whisper, yet it echoed eerily and layered in the chamber, as if countless voices were repeating the name simultaneously.

Bellatrix, kneeling in the corner, trembled and abruptly raised her head. Her once mad and fiery eyes were now filled with unbelievable ecstasy and devotion. She moved forward a few steps on her knees, her hands trembling as she reached for Voldemort's toes, but then withdrew them at the last moment—she dared not, dared not desecrate.

"Master—" Her voice was hoarse and choked with emotion, "You called me?"

Voldemort turned around, his three scarlet eyes looking down at the woman who was most loyal, most insane, and most willing to give everything for him.

The woman's black hair fell messily over her shoulders, her face still bore the scars from her last mission, her eyes were bloodshot, and her lips were chapped. She hadn't had a proper rest in a long time—she had searched almost half of Europe for the Raven and Grindelwald.

But she never complained, never backed down; at Voldemort's word, she would jump into the fire without hesitation.

Voldemort looked at the woman in front of him and remained silent for a few seconds.

Then he raised his hand, and his inhuman fingers, covered in black scales, gently brushed against Bellatrix's cheek.

The woman's body trembled violently, and tears welled up in her eyes—not from fear, but from her master's touch, a gift she had longed for for many years but had never received.

"Bella, my dear servant," Voldemort uttered her name again, his voice low and seductive, "Would you give me everything?"

Upon hearing this, Bellatrix's body trembled even more violently.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped onto the cold ground.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found her voice stuck in her throat, unable to come out. She could only nod frantically, nod frantically.

His forehead hit the ground with a dull thud.

"I do, Master. I am willing to give my life, my soul, my everything." Her voice was hoarse but firm.

With an almost fanatical devotion.

Voldemort's lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile. "Very good." He withdrew his hand and turned to walk deeper into the secret chamber.

The tentacles swayed gently behind him, like some ancient, summoning ritual.

"Come with me."

Bellatrix stood up abruptly and staggered after Voldemort. Her legs were weak and her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of her chest, but she didn't stop. Step by step, she followed Voldemort's figure into the depths of the secret chamber that no one else had ever entered before.

The stone gate slowly closed behind them, shutting out the curious, fearful, and envious gazes.

At the deepest part of the secret chamber is a small, circular stone room.

In the center of the stone chamber stood a stone platform, upon which rested a crystal ball. A wisp of dark red mist slowly rotated, occasionally flashing with a tiny, lightning-like light.

Bellatrix stood before the stone platform, gazing down at the crystal ball. She could sense an indescribable, terrifying power contained within that mist. It slowly rotated before her, each rotation sending a shiver down her spine.

It was not fear, but awe, like an ant gazing at the stars, like a mortal facing a god.

"This is a gift from deep space."

Voldemort stood behind her, his voice soft and deep, "Power from beyond dimensions. It can change you, reshape you, and elevate you beyond the limits of mortals."

He walked up to Bellatrix, his three scarlet eyes staring directly into hers. "But the price is, you will no longer be you."

Voldemort's voice was softer, yet carried an undeniable coldness.

"Your body will change, your soul will change, your very existence will change. You will no longer be human—at least, no longer purely human."

He began to test loyalty with words.

Bellatrix looked up at Voldemort's bloodshot eyes. In those eyes, there was no hesitation, no pity, only a cold, almost cruel expectation. She was silent for a few seconds, then laughed. The laugh seemed exceptionally radiant, exceptionally crazed, on her pale face.

"Owner!"

Her voice was hoarse but firm: "I didn't want to be human anymore a long time ago."

Voldemort looked at Bella's smile and remained silent for a moment.

"very good!"

Then, he raised his hand and placed his palm on the crystal ball.

Dark red mist surged from the crystal ball, coiling around his fingers and spreading down his arm. The mist condensed and swirled in his palm.

It eventually transformed into a small, fist-sized ball of light.

Within the sphere of light, countless tiny, vein-like tentacles wriggled, each pulsation carrying an eerie, life-like rhythm.

Voldemort held the orb of light up in front of Bellatrix. "This is the last time I'll ask you," his voice was calm and cold, "Are you sure?"

Bellatrix did not hesitate. She reached out and grasped the orb of light.

In that instant, the ball of light exploded.

Dark red mist surged into her palms like a burst dam, spreading through her veins and throughout her body. She felt her blood boiling, her bones melting, her muscles tearing and then reforming, tearing again, and reforming again. The pain was indescribable—more intense than being ripped from her bones, more scorching than being burned by raging fire, a hundred times more terrifying than any torture she had ever experienced or been subjected to.

She opened her mouth, wanting to scream, but found her voice stuck in her throat.

Bella's eyes widened, the dark red light reflected in her pupils, growing brighter and more intense until it engulfed her entire eyeballs.

Her body was trembling violently, and every inch of her skin was writhing, deforming, and regenerating.

The dark red mist seeped from her pores and condensed on her skin into a thin layer of tar-like black liquid.

Voldemort stood before her, silently observing everything. His expression remained unchanged, only a fleeting, unfathomable light flashed in his crimson eyes.

He saw it—deep within Bellatrix's soul, the seed from deep space was taking root and sprouting.

It will grow, it will spread, it will merge with her soul, ultimately transforming the very nature of her being. Bella will no longer be human, no longer a witch, no longer Bellatrix Lestrange. She will become an extension of deep space into this world!

Become his apostle!

His tools, his weapons!

Voldemort's lips curled up slightly.

"very good,"

He said softly, "Very good."

The dark red light lingered in the stone chamber for a long time, so long that the Death Eaters guarding the door began to whisper among themselves, speculating about what had happened inside.

The stone gate finally opened.

Voldemort came out.

His expression was calm, his clothes were neat, and there was nothing unusual about him.

But the darkness behind him made all the Death Eaters hold their breath—something was moving in that darkness.

It is neither human nor animal, but some indescribable being that exists somewhere in between.

It emerged slowly from the darkness, each step carrying an eerie and unsettling rhythm.

That's Bellatrix.

But she is no longer Bellatrix.

Her body was still the same—tall, slender, with her black hair falling messily over her shoulders.

But her skin was no longer human white; instead, it had turned into a strange, dark reddish-gray, like metal scorched by flames.

Her arms were longer than before, her fingers were longer, and there was an extra curve at the joints, making her look like some kind of insect.

Bella's fingernails had also turned black, sharp as knives, and gleamed coldly in the candlelight.

But what's most terrifying is her eyes.

She once had beautiful, deep brown eyes, wild and fiery. But now, those eyes are gone. In their place—countless eyes.

Eyes grew on her face, her neck, her arms, the backs of her hands, and every inch of her exposed skin.

The eyes varied in size; some were like pinheads, others like copper coins, some were tightly closed, and others were wide open.

They have no whites in their eyes, only pitch-black, bottomless pupils, within which a faint dark red light can be seen flickering.

Those eyes were moving. Every single one was moving, looking in a different direction, staring at something different. Some were looking at Voldemort, some at the Death Eaters kneeling on the ground, some at the ceiling, some at the ground, and some at some point in the void that could not be perceived by mortals.

They blink simultaneously, at different frequencies, in different directions, and with different rhythms, making one feel a dizziness and nausea from the depths of their soul.

Bellatrix walked up to Voldemort and knelt down. Her movements were slow and stiff, as if she were still getting used to her new body.

The eyes followed her movements, some closing, some opening, some beginning to weep—the tears weren't transparent, but a dark red, viscous liquid that slid down her cheeks, dripping onto the ground and corroding small, smoking pits.

"Owner."

She spoke. Her voice had changed; it was no longer the sharp, maniacally laughing female voice of before, but a deep, hoarse one, carrying an eerie resonance, as if countless voices were superimposed upon each other. "I feel it—"

I feel power flowing through my body—it's your power—it's the power of deep space—”

She looked up, and all those eyes turned to Voldemort. Their gazes held piety, adoration, and a hint of indescribable, almost morbid, attachment.

Voldemort looked down at her, his scarlet eyes devoid of any emotion.

How are you feeling?

he asks.

Bellatrix laughed.

That smile looked particularly eerie and terrifying on her face, which was filled with eyes. But her voice carried a childlike, pure joy.

"Powerful, Master. I've never felt so powerful." She raised her hand, looking at her palm covered in eyes. The eyes blinked in her palm, their pupils reflecting her face—a face also covered in eyes. She gently clenched her fist!

Those eyes closed and opened simultaneously, bursting forth with a blinding dark red light. Wherever the light passed, the air distorted, cracks appeared on the stone walls, and several Death Eaters who were nearby were even burned by the light, screaming and covering their eyes as they rolled on the ground.

"This is the true evolution of humankind!"

Bella's tone was firm and fervent.