The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 597-606: The Great Wizarding Revolution 8

The same process, the same pain, the same struggle.

Crabbe's body rolled, convulsed, and spasmed on the ground, and for the first time, a distorted, painful, and near-collapsed expression appeared on his dull face.

He opened his mouth and let out a low, beast-like roar that echoed across the hills, startling a flock of crows perched in the distant trees.

"How could this happen? This shouldn't be happening. What should I do?" Nott knelt beside him, looking at Crabbe's miserable state, his young face filled with despair.

He knew he was next.

He wanted to escape, to run, to do anything to avoid what was about to happen. But he couldn't. He couldn't betray his master, couldn't disobey his master's orders. The day he joined the Death Eaters, he had already given his life to Voldemort.

He had no choice.

"Aaaaaah!"

Crabbe's struggles finally ceased. He lay on the ground, panting heavily, his body drenched in sweat. He opened his eyes; they were dark red, pupil-less eyes, just like Selwyn's. He slowly sat up, looked down at his hands, clenched his fist, then relaxed it.

"How do you feel?" Voldemort asked.

Crabbe looked up at Voldemort. For the first time, an expression appeared on that usually expressionless face—not fear, not pain, but a devout, almost worshipful light.

"Powerful, my master." His voice was deep and hoarse, carrying the same unfamiliar resonance that didn't belong to him, just like the previous person.

"I feel—very powerful."

Voldemort nodded in satisfaction. He turned to Nott.

Nott's face was ashen, his lips trembled violently, and his eyes were filled with fear and despair. He watched Voldemort raise his hand, watched the dark red light coalesce again, and watched the tentacles writhe within it. His body trembled, but he did not retreat, nor did he flee.

He simply knelt there, closed his eyes, and waited.

Yes, the light was also pressed on his forehead.

Nott's body stiffened abruptly, but he did not scream or struggle; he simply gritted his teeth and endured the indescribable pain.

His body convulsed and spasmed on the ground, but he never uttered a groan.

Those tentacles wriggled beneath his skin, transforming his flesh, bones, and soul, but he simply closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and endured it all.

When the agony finally subsided, he lay on the ground, panting heavily, his body drenched in sweat. He opened his eyes, and in those dark red, pupil-less eyes, there was no fear, no pain, only an empty, blank light, as if gazing at something distant.

He slowly sat up and looked down at his hands.

"How do you feel?" Voldemort asked.

Nott looked up at Voldemort. The fear and despair on his young face vanished, replaced by a devout, almost worshipful light.

"Truly powerful, Master." His voice was hoarse and deep, carrying a strange resonance that didn't belong to him. "I feel—powerful too."

Voldemort looked at the three of them, his three scarlet eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Very good," he said. "Very good."

Bellatrix stood to the side, a sinister smile spreading across his face as he watched the three Death Eaters who had just been modified.

"Welcome." Her voice was low and hoarse, carrying a morbid, almost tender satisfaction. "Welcome to be the master's apostle."

Selwyn stood up, stretched his shoulders, and felt the new, cold power within him. The tendrils twitched slightly beneath his skin, bringing a tingling, electric-like pleasure. He looked down at his hands, clenched his fist, then relaxed it, and a slow smile spread across his lips—a genuine, contented smile, not a forced or contrived one.

"I've never felt so good."

His voice held an incredulous, almost ecstatic emotion, "The me of the past—was so weak. So insignificant. I never knew that true power could make a person so—"

He paused, seemingly searching for the right words.

"Complete," Crabbe chimed in, a smile also appearing on his usually expressionless face. "I feel more complete than ever before."

Nott didn't speak, but looked down at his hands, at his dark red, pupil-less eyes. A faint, satisfied smile appeared on his lips.

Voldemort looked at them, a satisfied gleam in his three crimson eyes. He had seen too many such transformations—from fear to resistance, from resistance to acceptance, from acceptance to ecstasy. Every time, it was the same. Every time, the result was the same.

"Now," he began, his voice calm and composed, "you have gained new power. Go and prove its worth."

He raised his hand, pointing to the town, to the gray stone house, and to the old figure still standing in the window.

"Grindelwald is inside. Go and kill him."

Bellatrix's eyes blazed with an intense light, those eyes simultaneously lighting up, a dark red glow shimmering around her. A grotesque smile spread across her lips, her voice low and hoarse, carrying a morbid, almost manic excitement.

"Yes, Master."

She turned and walked down the mountain. Selwyn, Crabbe, and Nott followed behind her, their steps firm, their eyes burning with the same light. Their wands were already in their hands, their spells ready. They were no longer the fearful figures they had been moments before.

The Death Eaters resisted, wanting to escape. They were the Master's apostles, the extension of the Deep Space into this world, Voldemort's sharpest blade. He paused, as if searching for the right words.

"Complete," Crabbe chimed in, a smile also appearing on his usually expressionless face. "I feel more complete than ever before."

Nott didn't speak, but looked down at his hands, at his dark red, pupil-less eyes. A faint, satisfied smile appeared on his lips.

Voldemort looked at them, a satisfied gleam in his three crimson eyes. He had seen too many such transformations—from fear to resistance, from resistance to acceptance, from acceptance to ecstasy. Every time, it was the same. Every time, the result was the same.

"Now," he began, his voice calm and composed, "you have gained new power. Go and prove its worth."

He raised his hand, pointing to the town, to the gray stone house, and to the old figure still standing in the window.

"Grindelwald is inside. Go and kill him."

Bellatrix's eyes blazed with an intense light, those eyes simultaneously lighting up, a dark red glow shimmering around her. A grotesque smile spread across her lips, her voice low and hoarse, carrying a morbid, almost manic excitement.

"Yes, Master."

She turned and walked down the mountain. Selwyn, Crabbe, and Nott followed behind her, their steps firm, their eyes burning with the same light. Their wands were already in their hands, their spells ready. They were no longer the fearful figures they had been moments before.

The Death Eaters resisted and tried to escape.

They are the apostles of the master, the extension of the deep space into this world, and Voldemort's sharpest blade.

The four men hurried along the town's cobblestone streets, their steps quick and eager. The church bells continued to toll, sharp and piercing, but no one dared to come out. The Muggles huddled in houses, behind curtains, behind any cover they could find, trembling and praying that these uninvited guests would leave quickly.

Bellatrix stopped in front of the gray stone house. All eyes turned to the black wooden door; it was closed, just as it had been the first time she'd come. But she could sense that Grindelwald was still inside, still in the living room, still by the fireplace, still waiting for them.

"He's still here," she said, her voice low and hoarse.

Selwyn stood behind her, his dark red, pupil-less eyes fixed on the door. "Shall we make a move?"

Bellatrix nodded. She raised her hand and placed it on the door.

The door was unlocked.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

In the living room, the fireplace was still burning, illuminating the entire room warmly and brightly. Grindelwald stood before the fireplace, his back to them, watching the flickering flames. He held no wand, wore no armor, and looked like an ordinary, aged, and unsuspecting old man.

Bellatrix looked at him, and those eyes blinked simultaneously.

"Grindelwald," she said, her voice low and hoarse, "your death is near."

Grindelwald slowly turned around. His heterochromatic eyes calmly looked at them, at Bellatrix, at Selwyn, at Crabbe, at Nott, at those eyes—those dark red, pupilless eyes. His expression remained unchanged; he only sighed softly.

"Where's Voldemort?" His voice was hoarse but calm. "He didn't come?"

Bellatrix's smile froze for a moment.

“The master doesn’t need to come in person,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “We, his apostles—are enough.”

Grindelwald looked at her for a long time. Then he shook his head.

"He's still so cowardly." His voice carried a faint, almost pitying disappointment. "I thought he would at least come and see for himself. After all, he's waited for this day, for so long."

Selwyn took a step forward, his dark red eyes burning with rage. "Shut up! Master isn't cowardly, he's just cautious! He's just..."

“He just doesn’t dare to come,” Grindelwald interrupted him, his tone still calm. “He’s afraid of me, afraid of Dumbledore, afraid of that raven. He hides in the shadows, sending you pawns to die for him. He’s always been like this—from fifty years ago until now, he’s never changed.”

Bellatrix's face turned ashen. Her eyes widened simultaneously, emitting a blinding dark red light.

"Shut up!" she shrieked, her voice sharp and piercing, carrying an eerie resonance as if countless voices were superimposed. "Master is great! Master is invincible! You—you old codger locked in the tower for fifty years—what right do you have to judge Master?!"

She raised her hand, pointing her wand at Grindelwald. A thick, dark red beam of light shot from the tip of the wand, aiming straight for his chest!

Grindelwald dodged to the side. The beam of light struck the fireplace behind him and exploded with a deafening roar! Debris flew everywhere, flames shot out, and a huge hole was blasted through the entire wall, revealing the gray sky outside.

Selwyn, Crabbe, and Nott attacked simultaneously! Three dark red beams shot towards Grindelwald from different directions, blocking all his escape routes!

Grindelwald moved swiftly through the living room, dodging the deadly attacks. His pace remained slow, but each step was perfectly timed; he sidestepped a beam of light, ducked to avoid another, leaped over the sofa, and landed just in time to dodge a dark red beam of light shooting from the side. The beams grazed his body, some striking the walls, some the ceiling, and some piercing the floor, causing the entire house to tremble and sending debris and dust raining down.

Bellatrix's attacks grew increasingly frequent and frenzied. Her face was filled with excitement, her eyes blinking in unison, their pupils reflecting Grindelwald's dodging figure.

"Keep hiding! Keep hiding!" she screamed, her voice filled with a morbid, almost manic pleasure. "Let's see how long you can hide!"

Grindelwald stopped and stood in the center of the living room. He no longer tried to hide.

Bellatrix seized the opportunity and pointed her wand forward sharply—a thicker and more intense dark red beam of light shot out from the tip of the wand, aiming straight for Grindelwald's chest!

Grindelwald raised his hand.

There was no wand, no spell, only an old, wrinkled hand. The beam of light stopped before his palm, as if it had struck an invisible wall. It spun wildly, struggled, and screamed, but could not advance an inch further.

Bellatrix's pupils contracted sharply. All the other eyes widened simultaneously, staring at the scene in disbelief.

"How...how is this possible?!"

Grindelwald looked at her, his heterochromatic eyes remaining calm. With a flick of his finger, the beam of light instantly changed direction, shooting towards Bellatrix at an even greater speed than before!

Bellatrix screamed and fell to the ground.

The beam of light grazed past her head, struck the wall behind her, and exploded with a deafening roar! The entire wall was blasted away, and debris and dust poured down like a torrential rain, burying her in the rubble.

Selwyn, Crabbe, and Nott all retreated, their faces pale and their eyes filled with fear.

Grindelwald stood amidst the ruins, looking at them, at those dark red, pupil-less eyes, at those faces transformed into something inhuman. His expression was calm, but complex emotions surged within his heterochromatic eyes.

"You may leave," he said, his voice hoarse but calm. "Tell Voldemort that I have been waiting for him for a long time. But he has not come."

He paused, then sighed softly.

I'm a little disappointed.

Bellatrix crawled out of the ruins, covered in dust, her hair disheveled, and her clothes torn.

Those eyes were still moving, still flashing a dark red light. She stared intently at Grindelwald, gritting her teeth, but didn't make another move.