The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 601, Section 610: That Deceptive Game 3

Yes, the ball of light stopped.

It hovered in mid-air, spinning wildly and struggling frantically, but could not move forward an inch.

The tentacles emerged from the sphere of light, attempting to entwine themselves around the silvery-white thread, but they vanished instantly upon contact, turning into nothingness.

Then, in the next moment...

Ian flicked his finger lightly.

The silvery-white thread tightened suddenly, slicing the enormous sphere of light in two! The sphere of light exploded violently, scattering dark red light in all directions.

It transformed into countless tiny specks of light, like shattered dreams, slowly drifting down.

Voldemort staggered back a few steps, his face deathly pale. He stared intently at Ian, his three crimson eyes swirling with disbelief and shock.

"You—how could this be?"

Ian looked at him, his deep eyes devoid of any emotion.

"I told you," his voice was calm and composed, "come and give it a try."

Voldemort's body trembled slightly. His tentacles danced wildly behind him, their dark red light flickering erratically. He knew he was no match for this boy. Even though this was just one of his Horcruxes, and its loss wouldn't affect his main body, the feeling of being crushed still filled him with an unbearable humiliation.

"Okay—okay—" His voice was hoarse and trembling. "You are strong—but I will not give up so easily." He turned around and looked at the stitched monster that was still trembling, at those blinking, dark red, pupil-less eyes.

"You guys hold off Grindelwald!"

The stitched-together monster's body shuddered violently, and all its eyes turned to Grindelwald. It let out a low, beast-like roar, and then—pounced on Grindelwald!

Grindelwald was ready. With a flick of his wand, a golden beam shot out, forcing the stitched monster back a few steps. But he looked strained; his face was pale, and his breathing was rapid, as if each spell drained all his strength.

"Ian!" he called out, his voice hoarse and urgent. "I'll hold it off while you deal with him." Ian glanced at him, a barely perceptible smile flashing in his deep eyes.

The script is unfolding smoothly.

Grindelwald appeared to be struggling to fend off the stitched-together monster's attacks, each swing of his wand carrying a strained, feeble effort. He was forced back, more tears appearing in his robes, his breathing becoming increasingly rapid, and his face growing paler.

The paler it is.

But only he knew—it was all an act.

He was controlling the rhythm, the intensity, and the appropriate performance for someone in a "severely injured" state. He couldn't be too strong, lest Voldemort spot a weakness; nor could he be too weak, lest the stitched-together monster actually injure him. It was a technical skill, and he was a master of it.

The stitched-together monster attacked frantically, its six arms lashing out simultaneously, their claws drawing streaks of cold light in the air. Its eyes blinked in unison, their dark red light flickering erratically. Bellatrix's voice emanated from the fused face, carrying a morbid, almost manic ecstasy.

"Old man—you can't escape now—"

Grindelwald did not answer. He simply continued to defend, continued to retreat, and continued to fight "hard."

On the other side of the hill, the standoff between Ian and Voldemort continued.

Voldemort abandoned his wide-range beams of light, opting instead for a more precise and deadly attack. The crimson light transformed into countless tiny, needle-like spikes, hurtling towards Ian from all directions! Each spike carried the chaotic properties of deep space, powerful enough to pierce any defense!

Ian's wand spun rapidly in his hand, forming a swirling, whirlwind-like barrier of silvery light around him. The spikes struck the barrier, shattering and vanishing into nothingness. Not a single one could penetrate it.

Voldemort's expression grew increasingly grim. He changed tactics; his tentacles emerged from his body, reaching out to entwine and bind Ian.

Go! They are not physical entities, but rather something that exists between matter and energy, capable of penetrating any physical defense!

Ian watched the tentacles, his smile unchanged. He raised his left hand and gently clenched it. The tentacles stopped a foot away from his body, as if choked by an invisible hand. They struggled and twisted frantically, but could not advance an inch further. Ian flicked his finger, and the tentacles shattered instantly, turning into countless tiny specks of light that dissipated into the air.

Voldemort's body shuddered violently, his tentacles retracted from his body, and the dark red light dimmed considerably. He gasped for breath, his three scarlet eyes churning with anger, resentment, and a hint of barely concealed fear.

Ian looked at him, but didn't press his advantage. He simply stood there, wand hanging at his side, waiting.

"You—" Voldemort's voice was hoarse and trembling, "Who are you?"

Ian looked at him, his deep eyes devoid of any emotion.

"I am a raven," he said calmly and composedly, "the bird you've been searching for."

Voldemort's lips twitched. He knew that victory was impossible today. Even if it was just one of his Horcruxes, he couldn't afford to waste it here. He needed to retreat, he needed to go back, he needed to plan again.

He turned around, transformed into a wisp of black smoke, and flew into the sky!

Ian didn't give chase. He simply stood there, watching the plume of black smoke disappear into the horizon, and gently shook his head.

Grindelwald emerged from the other side of the hill, his robes tattered, his hair disheveled, and his face pale. He still held his wand.

In his hand, the tip of the staff still emitted wisps of blue smoke. He walked to Ian's side, also looking in the direction where the black smoke had disappeared, his heterochromatic eyes churning with complex emotions.

"I'm leaving," he said, his voice hoarse but calm.

Ian nodded. "Let's go."

Grindelwald glanced at him. "You did this on purpose?"

Ian's lips curled into a slight smile. "He's just an avatar; killing him is pointless. Letting him go back will only make his true self more terrified."

Grindelwald was silent for a few seconds, then sighed softly.

"The script is going well," he said.

Ian nodded. "It went smoothly."

The two stood on the hill, watching the sky gradually regain its light. In the distance, the church bells rang again, deep and resonant.

The stitched monster was gone. It too vanished into the hillside in a puff of black smoke the moment Voldemort fled.

Those eyes, those tentacles, those twisted limbs all vanished, leaving only the craters blasted open on the ground and scorch marks still emitting smoke.

Grindelwald put away his wand and looked at Ian.

"What's next?"

Ian turned around, looking in the direction of the town, at the gray stone house, at the rooftops illuminated by the morning light.

"Next," his voice was calm and composed, "wait."

"Wait for Voldemort's true form to come in person."

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

Will he come?

Ian looked at him, a slight smile playing on his lips, revealing a faint, confident expression.

"He will."

He definitely will.

On the hill, two figures stood side by side, gazing into the distance. Sunlight shone on them, casting long shadows.

The morning light finally pierced through the clouds, bathing the town's stone rooftops in a warm gold. The church bells stopped ringing, a few distant barks rang out, followed by an unnatural silence. The Muggles remained hidden in their houses, behind curtains, behind any cover they could find, too afraid to come out.

They didn't know what was happening outside, what those eerie lights were, or what the twisted, repulsive monster that had descended from the hill was. All they knew was fear.

Ian stood on the town's main street, hands in his pockets, looking around. Behind the windows of the stone houses, he could vaguely see some blurry figures peeking out through the gaps in the curtains.

He could sense their fear, their confusion, their unease. It was an instinctive, primal fear, unrelated to reason or understanding.

I'm simply afraid of things that can't be explained.

"The Muggles were greatly frightened."

Grindelwald descended the hill, his robes tattered, his hair disheveled, and his face still pale. He still clutched his wand, its tip emitting wisps of smoke. He walked to Ian's side, glancing around as well, his heterochromatic eyes swirling with complex emotions.

"We need to get down to business. Let's begin," Grindelwald said, his voice hoarse but calm. It wasn't murder, just routine procedures the Ministry of Magic always carried out.

"no problem."

Ian nodded. He raised his hand, and the wand slid from his sleeve into his palm. It was a very thin and light wand, made of light-colored wood, without any decoration, only some fine, almost invisible patterns. He held the wand and gently swung it.

That wasn't offensive magic, nor defensive magic, but a more sophisticated and delicate spell—a confusion spell. It wouldn't harm anyone, wouldn't change anything, it simply and gently blurred those images that shouldn't be remembered, making them blurry, distant, and unreal like a dream in memory.

"Your understanding of magic is growing deeper," Grindelwald said, raising his wand as well. His wand was made of dark wood, with fine scratches on its surface, marks left by time.

With a gentle wave, a golden light shot out from the tip of his staff, intertwining with Ian's silver-white light to form a thin, almost invisible curtain of light above the town.

That's the Oblivion Spell, more direct and more thorough. It erases memories that shouldn't be remembered from the mind—not blurring them, not fading them, but completely deleting them, as if they never existed.

The two people's magic intertwined, slowly swirling above the town like a giant, invisible vortex.

"What happened!?" The Muggles hiding behind the windows began to look blank, and the fear on their faces began to fade.

They no longer remembered the eerie lights, the twisted monster, or the terrifying images that kept them awake all night. All they remembered was going to bed early last night and having a long dream filled with light, sound, and something moving in the darkness.

But when I woke up, I couldn't remember anything.

Ian put away his wand and looked at the town. The figures behind the curtains began to move; some opened windows, some stepped out of doors, and some stood in doorways stretching, yawning, their faces showing sleepy confusion. Everything returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.

Grindelwald also put away his wand and sighed softly. "That's about enough."

Ian nodded without saying anything.

He turned around and walked out of the town.

Grindelwald followed behind him, the two of them walking one after the other past the stone houses, past the church, past the cemetery, past the gray house with half of its wall destroyed.

No one noticed them, no one saw them; the Muggles simply continued their daily lives as if nothing had happened.

On the hill, the morning wind howled, rustling the withered grass. Ian stood at the highest point of the hill, gazing into the distance. Grindelwald stood beside him, also looking into the distance.

"What's next?" Grindelwald asked.

Ian was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Go back. Wait."

He didn't say what he was waiting for, and Grindelwald didn't ask either.

The two figures entered the town at the same time.

All that remained on the hill were the craters from the explosion and the scorch marks still emitting smoke.

When they reappeared, they were already standing on the town's main stone street. The morning light had completely dispelled the darkness, bathing the gray stone houses in a warm, soft gold.

The church bells rang several more times, this time not as a rapid alarm, but as a normal, long chime that echoed through the valley.

It mingled with the birdsong coming from afar.

The Muggles had already begun their day. An old man pushed his bicycle out of the alley, a few baguettes in the basket, their aroma wafting in the morning breeze.

A young woman walked along the cobblestone path with a brown dog on a leash. The dog wagged its tail, sniffing around with curiosity. Several children chased and played in the open space in front of the church, their clear, loud laughter standing out in the quiet morning.

Nobody remembers what happened last night.

No one remembers those eerie lights, no one remembers that twisted monster, no one remembers those terrifying images that kept them up all night.

"Muggles, life is so wonderful." Grindelwald stood on the side of the main street, watching the Muggles coming and going, his heterochromatic eyes swirling with complex emotions.

His robes had been changed—no longer the torn, dusty, and bloodstained old robe, but a dark gray, seemingly ordinary coat and a pair of black trousers.

Now, the former Dark Lord's silver hair is neatly combed, and he looks like an ordinary person.

Elderly people who come here for vacation.

Ian stood beside him, also dressed in a dark hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. He looked no different from any other ordinary twelve-year-old boy.

"Actually, being a Muggle isn't so bad." He put his hands in his pockets, tilted his head, and looked at the Muggles with a faint smile on his lips.

"Perhaps."

Grindelwald's statement is ambiguous.