The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 595-604: The Great Wizarding Revolution 6

The two people in the church looked at each other.

"That spell," Ian began, his tone tinged with curiosity, "Heartbreaker - Soul Destroyer. If it hits, can it really harm you?"

Grindelwald looked at him and remained silent for a few seconds.

"Perhaps," he sneered, "but she missed."

Ian smiled too.

That smile on his youthful face was exceptionally bright and mischievous. "So, you still haven't revealed the power of a legend."

Grindelwald didn't speak. He walked to the window and looked out at the town shrouded in morning mist. The church bells were still ringing, deep and resonant.

"Voldemort will come in person."

He said it in a calm and resolute voice.

Ian walked over to him, also looking out the window. "I know."

"He will bring that mirror to you."

"I know."

"He will use it against you."

Ian turned to look at Grindelwald. His deep eyes gleamed with a calmness far beyond his years.

"I know," he repeated, then smiled, "but you also know that the mirror is fake."

Grindelwald looked at him, remained silent for a few seconds, then sighed softly. "Are you sure he'll use a mirror on you, and not something else?"

Upon hearing this...

Ian turned his gaze away and looked out the window.

"He will. Because he's afraid of me." His voice was calm and composed. "He's afraid of that raven, afraid of the man in Azkaban who watches him but never looks him in the eye. He doesn't dare come in person, doesn't dare confront me directly, so he resorts to these underhanded methods."

That mirror was his only hope; he would definitely use it.

Grindelwald was silent for a few seconds, then nodded slightly.

I hope your judgment is correct.

Ian smiled.

"My judgment has never been wrong."

The morning mist outside the window gradually dissipated, and sunlight shone through the clouds onto the stone houses of the town. The church bells stopped ringing, and a few birdsongs drifted from afar, clear and melodious.

Grindelwald gazed at the sunlight, at the rooftops illuminated by it, and at the distant house with half its wall destroyed. His expression was calm, but a complex light flickered in his heterochromatic eyes.

"Soon."

He said softly.

"It will be soon."

Upon hearing this, Ian nodded but did not reply.

Neither of them spoke; they simply stood quietly by the window, watching the town shrouded in morning mist and the gradually rising sunlight.

Bellatrix stood on a hill outside the town, eyes scanning her, fixed on the gray buildings shrouded in the morning mist below.

She had been standing there for almost two hours, from when the morning mist was thickest until the sunlight began to pierce through the clouds, from the church—

The bell rang for the first time, and the last chime faded into the valley.

Her robes still bore the dust and scorch marks of the battle, and her hair was disheveled and scattered over her shoulders, but her back was straight as a rock.

"Oh no! What do we do?!"

Selwyn leaned against a bare old tree, his rugged face etched with weariness and irritability. He kept rubbing his hands together, as if trying to warm them, or perhaps suppressing something.

The man's wand was tucked into a leather sheath at his waist, and a faint red light would occasionally flash from its tip—the result of him subconsciously activating his magic and then forcibly suppressing it.

He hadn't felt this nervous in a long time. The last time was during the First Wizarding War, on the night he was surrounded by a group of Aurors in the Dark Forest.

"The master will come."

Crabbe sat on a large rock, his expressionless face blank. He looked down at his rough, calloused hands, as if counting the lines on his fingers.

He rarely spoke, and even at Death Eater gatherings, he always stood silently in a corner, like an emotionless stone.

But at this moment, his usually dull eyes were gleaming with a complex and indescribable light.

"Grindelwald." Nott stood atop the hill, his young face a mixture of fear and confusion. He kept turning back to look towards the town, then at Bellatrix's retreating figure, as if anticipating something, yet also as if afraid of something.

He gripped the magic wand tightly in his hand.

His knuckles were white, and the tip of his cane trembled slightly.

The sun finally rose fully, and golden sunlight spilled onto the hills, turning the withered grass into a warm glow.

A false sense of life. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the town, drifting in the breeze, the air filled with the aroma of firewood and toasting bread. Everything seemed so peaceful, so serene, as if the battle that had nearly destroyed half a house was just a nightmare.

Selwyn finally couldn't hold back any longer. He stepped out from under the tree and walked over to Bellatrix, his rugged face filled with confusion and unease.

"Bella," he began, his voice low and hoarse, "that old bastard—how could he be so strong?"

Bellatrix didn't look at him. Those eyes remained fixed on the direction of the town, on the gray house with half its wall destroyed.

"He was once the Dark Lord." Her voice was calm and cold. "All of Europe trembled at his feet. Do you think he was just some random Tom, Dick, or Harry?"

Selwyn gritted his teeth, his facial muscles twitching slightly.

"But he's been imprisoned for fifty years; his magic should have been depleted long ago. And Master said he was seriously injured and weak—but just now—"

He didn't finish his sentence, but the fear in his voice said it all.

Bellatrix turned her head, and all those eyes simultaneously turned to Selwyn. Those gazes held mockery, impatience, and a chilling killing intent.

Are you questioning your master?

Selwyn's face turned deathly pale. He quickly lowered his head, took a step back, and said in a trembling voice, "No—"

"I dare not. I just—I just—"

"Just scared?" Bellatrix picked up where he left off, a sinister smile spreading across her face. "Selwyn, you've served your master for so many years, you should know that his judgment is never wrong. Grindelwald is indeed seriously injured, indeed weak, but his strength remains. That's because he was once a legend. Even if he has fallen from grace, his combat experience, his magical prowess, and his understanding of power are unmatched by a wizard of your level."

She turned her gaze away and looked back at the town.

"But so what?" Her voice held a morbid, almost fanatical confidence. "Master is stronger. Master's power comes from deep space, from beyond dimensions, from those indescribable beings. Grindelwald, no matter how strong, is only at the peak of mortal power. But Master—Master has already transcended mortal power."

Nott walked down from the top of the hill, his young face full of confusion.

"But why didn't the master come in person?"

He asked, his voice tinged with a cautious probing, "If Master is truly that strong, why did he send us to test him?"

Bellatrix's eyes blinked simultaneously, and a dark red light shimmered around her.

"You can't fathom your master's thoughts." Her voice was cold and dangerous. "All you need to know is that everything your master does is for the ultimate goal. Grindelwald, Dumbledore, that raven—they will all die. No one can stand in your master's way."

Crabbe suddenly spoke. His voice was low and hoarse, as if it were squeezed out from a crack in a rock.

"That Grindelwald—is he really that strong?"

Bellatrix glanced at him, a complex light flashing in her eyes.

"Strong," she said, her voice tinged with resentment. "Very strong. I used the power bestowed upon me by my master, I used the spells of the deep space, and I couldn't hurt him. But—" She paused, a more sinister smile spreading across her face, "he couldn't hurt me either. He was just dodging, blocking, stalling for time. He was truly badly injured, truly weak, and dared not confront me head-on."

Selwyn looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "So—he's not invincible?"

Bellatrix didn't answer. She just looked at the town, at the gray house, and at the old figure still standing by the window.

"The master will come himself," she whispered, as if trying to convince herself. "The master will kill him with his own hands. Then, Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and all the ravens will die."

As soon as she finished speaking, the sky suddenly darkened.

It wasn't dark clouds obscuring the sun, nor was it an eclipse; rather, it was a more eerie, more unsettling darkness. It surged in from the horizon, like ink dripping into clear water, spreading rapidly and swallowing all light. That darkness was not static, but fluid, like a living thing, like countless tiny, invisible tentacles wriggling in the air.

Bellatrix jerked her head up, her eyes widening simultaneously, emitting a blinding dark red light. A maniacal, almost insane smile spread across her lips.

"Master—" she murmured, her voice filled with a morbid, almost pious ecstasy, "Master has come!"

Black smoke billowed in from the horizon, obscuring the sky like an inverted black ocean. It churned, roared, and devoured every inch of light in the sky. The sun was swallowed up, the clouds were swallowed up, and even the distant mountains were shrouded in the black smoke, becoming blurry, distorted outlines.

The town bells rang again, but this time it wasn't a deep, drawn-out chime; instead, it was a rapid, piercing alarm. People rushed out of their houses, looking up at the eerie, all-consuming darkness. Screams, cries, and barking echoed through the air, filling the air with terror.

But Bellatrix couldn't hear those sounds. Her entire attention was on the black smoke, on the darkness that was gathering, shrinking, and taking shape.

Black smoke swirled above the town, and then—plunged downwards!

It cascaded down like a black waterfall, crashing onto the hillside, crashing down in front of Bellatrix. Dust and debris flew everywhere, leaving a huge, smoking crater in the ground. From the darkness, a figure slowly emerged.

Voldemort.

No, it wasn't Voldemort.

At least, not the complete Voldemort.

His body was smaller than his original form, with lighter skin and fewer tentacles. His three scarlet eyes still burned in the darkness, but the light within them was dimmer and more unstable. His aura was still powerful, but compared to the abyss-like oppressiveness of his original form, this body's aura was more volatile and chaotic, like a bomb that wasn't fully controlled.

But Bellatrix didn't care. She didn't care whether it was the real body or an avatar, whether it was complete or powerful. All she saw was—her master had arrived.

She suddenly knelt down, her forehead pressed against Voldemort's toes. His eyes closed simultaneously, dark red tears seeping from their slits and dripping onto Voldemort's black robes.

"Master—" Her voice choked and trembled, "You've come—you've finally come—"

Voldemort looked down at her, his three scarlet eyes devoid of any emotion. He lifted his foot and lightly stomped on the top of her head, the movement as casual as stepping on a stone.

"Get up." His voice was soft and hoarse.

Bellatrix quickly stood up, stepped aside, and lowered her head, not daring to look him in the eye. Those eyes blinked at her, some stealing glances at Voldemort, some at the ground, and some at some point in the void imperceptible to mortals.

Selwyn, Crabbe, and Nott also knelt down. Their foreheads pressed against the cold ground, their bodies trembling. They dared not raise their heads, dared not speak, and even their breathing was cautious, for fear of making any sound that would displease their master.

Voldemort's gaze swept over them, over the three trembling figures lying on the ground. A cold, mocking smile appeared on his lips.

"Get up," he said.

The three people quickly stood up, also lowering their heads, not daring to look him in the eye.

Voldemort looked toward the town, toward the gray house with half its wall destroyed. His three scarlet eyes narrowed slightly, as if sensing something, or perhaps simply confirming something.

"Grindelwald is inside," he said, his voice calm and certain.

Bellatrix nodded quickly: "Yes, Master. He's inside. I used the power you gave me, I used deep-space spells, but I couldn't harm him."

Voldemort raised his hand, interrupting her.

"I know," he said calmly. "That old bastard is hard to kill."

He paused, then his smile deepened.

"But now I'm here."

Selwin raised his head, his rugged face filled with awe and anticipation. He opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment, then mustered his courage and spoke: "Master, you—you will personally take action?"

Voldemort looked at him, his three scarlet eyes flashing with an unfathomable light.

"No, no, no." He shook his head, his voice soft yet dangerous. "My main body is preparing for something else. The one who's here now—" He raised his hand and pointed to his slightly illusory and unstable body, "is just a newly created Horcrux clone."

Selwyn's expression changed slightly. Crabbe's hand trembled. Nott's breathing became rapid.

It's just a clone.

Even if it's just a clone, the black smoke sweeping in from the horizon, the darkness that blots out the sky, the suffocating sense of oppression—these are all the power of just a clone.

How powerful must the original body be?

Everyone held their breath.

And that's the feeling Voldemort wanted.

Voldemort's smile deepened as he watched their reactions.

"But that's enough."

Voldemort was brimming with confidence: "To deal with a severely injured, weakened Grindelwald whose cultivation level has even dropped, one clone is enough."

He is no longer the same person he used to be.

The mere first generation leader.

Not worth mentioning.