Days at Hogwarts

Chapter 751 The Night Rain Gradually Stops

A flash of green light appeared.

The burly middle-aged man's eyes lost their luster, yet he remained in the motion of leaping forward with his hands raised high. His legs had already left the ground, and his body, suspended in mid-air, had become a skeleton. The speed of his descent seemed to have slowed considerably.

Inertia still propelled the body toward Voldemort, the pure physical impact interrupting the magic he had been preparing for so long.

Voldemort staggered slightly, his anger and embarrassment almost driving him to madness, but in the critical moment of life and death, he managed to restrain himself, ignoring the remains of this savage and lowly beast, letting old Crabbe hold him by the waist with his torn and bleeding hands, and looking up at the sky.

The young wizard floated in mid-air, facing the ground and extending his wand, an unusually long wand. In front of him was a whole expanse of golden rainbow light, carrying unimaginable heat. Behind him were thick clouds under the night sky, and the drizzling rain continued, the raindrops evaporating before they even got close.

The brilliant rainbow light suddenly plummeted, pressing down like falling stars.

The illusionary barrier remained in place, leaving them nowhere to hide from the impending blazing magic. Their counterattack was interrupted by Old Crabbe…

Voldemort hastily conjured only a gleaming silver shield.

The next moment, the sky above was completely obscured by the magical blazing sun.

A dazzling half-sun roared in, its scorching heat engulfing the area outside the silver shield. Voldemort's pale cheeks turned fiery red, and he seemed to hear the sound of old Crabbe's remains, unable to withstand the intense heat, cracking and drying out.

Voldemort's face was contorted with rage, but he held his wand high, making the silver shield shine even brighter.

"Zheng..."

The fireworks struck the silver shield with a loud, piercing roar. Powerful magic poured into the shield, causing its silver radiance to surge and become even more dazzling and bright.

The intense rainbow light was fierce and magnificent, as if an entire star had fallen and bombarded the earth. The high temperature continued to scorch the ground, which gradually melted into flowing lava, and the air gradually thinned.

Every inch of skin was being burned unimaginably, the blood in my body was churning and boiling, and my heart was piercing with a sharp pain... It felt like a long time had passed, yet it also felt like only a few seconds had passed. When the pain reached a certain critical point, my senses became dulled, the figure on the other side of the rainbow became blurry, the pain eased, and all I could hear was the whooshing sound of air convection, with a pungent and acrid smell lingering around my nose.

That's... the smell of death.

Voldemort's eyes widened, but his pupils narrowed to slits as he suddenly snapped to attention: "Loren Morgan!"

The thin air distorted the sound, making the black wizard's roar sound even more mournful, almost breaking through the spatial barrier and echoing in Loren's ears. His pale, serpentine face was burned, some parts charred black, others revealing tender pink flesh, which was quickly stained red with blood.

The immense magical power flowing into the silver shield made the metallic clanging sound even more piercing.

Voldemort's bloodshot eyes began to roll upwards, and the anger and resentment on his snake-like face gradually faded, leaving it empty and blank. His entire body seemed to be unable to bear the weight, emitting a slight cracking sound, with tiny cracks spreading from his mouth and nose to his other facial features.

The inside of the body seemed to have been ignited, with inconspicuous black smoke rising from the orifices and cracks, and the fine black mist faintly forming another face.

This is a sign that the spirit is abandoning its body and trying to escape on its own.

Voldemort's ghost is very unique. It is different from the ghosts at Hogwarts and the ghosts summoned by the Resurrection Stone. Horcruxes can be destroyed by several things and magic. Although the ghost is weak, it is almost unaffected by the real environment.

Voldemort could never have imagined that all seven of his Horcruxes had been destroyed, and without the unbreakable and wondrous connection between souls, his main soul had lost the right to roam the world.

Loren was in no hurry, methodically controlling the falling rainbow light to shatter the silver shield bit by bit.

Wisps of black smoke drifted from the mouth, nostrils, ears, and eyes, yet remained trapped within the body. A face condensed from black smoke covered the original pale snake face, as if a demon had parasitized it. Voldemort's voice emanated simultaneously from the ghost and his throat, overlapping and intertwining.

"Damn Morgan! Hypocritical Dumbledore! You think you've won by killing me?"

"You will regret this; Slytherin foresaw it!"

"..."

Fine cracks spread across the silver shield, which shattered silently a few seconds later.

In the blink of an eye, an overwhelming rainbow light enveloped Voldemort's body, and in an instant, surging flames erupted. The perfect body sculpted during the resurrection ritual was ignited, and flames spewed from his skin, muscles, blood vessels, organs, and even inside his bones. His blood dried up and charred before it could evaporate.

The hot wind raged on the tarmac, and the body turned into scattered sparks and scorching ashes.

As the rainbow faded, the wizards who had been hiding in the distance looked up but did not see the young wizard. Instead, they saw the rain curtain fall again over the entire airport, drizzling and damp.

The rain extinguished the ignited ground, and the damp summer night wind continued to blow, but much gentler. The shattered ground pieced itself back together, and reinforced concrete grew and covered the ground like plants. The molten and cooled obsidian flowed like liquid, transforming back into glass and walls.

The Aurors of the U.S. Ministry of Magic were dumbfounded, while Scrimgeour stared blankly at the restored airport.

"Dumbledore..."

Scrimgeour closed his eyes, the scene from just moments ago flashing through his mind: the magnificent rainbow light that blotted out the entire airport, the incinerating heat that practically brought hell into reality, the Dark Lord who had once suffocated the entire Ministry of Magic, his indestructible silver shield that had withstood dozens of spells simultaneously—as the rainbow light fell, the shield shattered, and the mysterious figure who had triumphed over death was burned to ashes, vanishing into the void of night.

All that remained was a slightly chilly rainy night, an ordinary airport, and many British wizards who had fought Voldemort for decades, as if experiencing a long nightmare.

His colleagues erupted in a deafening roar, ignoring the unconscious and bound Death Eaters, vying to embrace and celebrate. After sixteen years, they once again experienced the joy of Voldemort's downfall. This deafening cheer mingled with the pattering raindrops, spreading and permeating the air, leaving Scrimgeour somewhat dazed.

He sensed a figure approaching and turned to see Samuel G. Koohauer, the person in charge of this operation for the Magical Congress of the United States, who had appeared beside him at some point. Koohauer was a powerful figure in the Magical Congress and a candidate for the next president. He looked somewhat dazed as he gazed at the restored airport and murmured to himself:

"Are all wizard duels on your side this large?"

"This is no ordinary wizard duel."

"To be honest, I never understood why you people in the Ministry of Magic could never trust Dumbledore, and even ostracized this legendary wizard at the International Wizarding Union Congress. Now I understand a little better. Even in my country, I wouldn't feel at ease with such a powerful wizard."

Scrimgeour paused for a moment, then replied dryly, "We do not distrust Dumbledore. He has been doing his job as headmaster diligently all these years, without any ambition or any behavior that would harm the Ministry of Magic."

"You mean Dumbledore is old?"

"..."

"If I'm not mistaken, the one who just fought the mysterious... Voldemort was a young wizard." Kohler grinned mischievously. "From tonight onwards, the Ministry of Magic will be living in fear again, and I estimate that this will last for a hundred years."

Scrimgeour's expression froze.

……

The terminal corridors were brightly lit.

The raindrops fell softly, splashing on the glass of the French windows, gathering together and flowing down in streams.

Loren sat in a VIP lounge chair, the headlights of the ground support vehicles still flashing in the distance, illuminating the roads near the tarmac. The airport had returned to normal, and the passengers and staff who had been tricked into hiding in secret rooms by the American Aurors returned to their original positions. Several of the smarter Muggles had been given a false memory spell, hopefully it wouldn't affect their brains.

Voldemort was completely destroyed, and the Death Eaters were mostly captured. The wizarding world was about to usher in a period of rapid development and peace. However, when the Aurors were hiding among the Muggles, celebrating with cans of beer, it was as if the familiar world had suddenly become strange, and there was a sense of bewilderment that I didn't know where to begin.

Six years ago, in the high mountain pastures, around summer time, he received his Hogwarts acceptance letter from Professor McGonagall.

He knew long ago that Voldemort would be resurrected and the Death Eaters would stir up trouble again. He also knew that all of Voldemort's Horcruxes would be destroyed and that he would eventually die at Dumbledore's hands. The Battle of Hogwarts, in which almost all wizards participated, would then be a testament to the arrival of peace.

Time and space seem to have been distorted and altered. The final battle is not at Hogwarts, not at the Ministry of Magic, and not even in Britain, but inexplicably takes place at a New York airport... There is a sense of disorientation and bewilderment.

"What are you thinking about, hero who defeated the Demon King, sitting here?"

A familiar voice came from beside me, followed by a delicate fragrance.

All the dazedness and unreality vanished instantly, and Loren couldn't help but smile: "So what about you? Weren't you supposed to be listening to the extradition negotiations between the Ministry of Magic and the Magical Congress? How did you end up here?"

"There's no point in just observing; there's almost no disagreement between the two sides."

Hermione sat down beside him, shoulder to shoulder, exchanging body heat: "Is Voldemort really gone? He shouldn't be able to reappear from somewhere, right?"

I think so.

"How's Harry?"

"He was taken away by Fox and is probably lying unconscious on a bed somewhere, talking to his mother."

"Mrs. Potter?"

"Harry was cursed with the Killing Curse, and between life and death lingers a hazy, dreamlike realm..."

"I see."

Hermione tilted her head and leaned closer to him, as if trying to read his thoughts from his eyes, which reflected the light from the window and shone slightly. "You still haven't answered my question. What were you thinking about? You seemed to have something on your mind."

"It's only a little bit, I haven't figured out how to say it yet."

"Then tell me when you've thought it through."

"Um."

Loren took her hand, their fingers intertwined, and they gazed into the distance, lost in thought.

The world under the cover of night was peaceful, as if victory had been won. In fact, like a cycle in the long history, it was full of ups and downs. A period of peace would be followed by a new crisis. I used to think that this was something that Dumbledore and others were worried about, or something that a prophetic child like Harry would worry about. Now that Voldemort's problem was solved, it was actually him who needed to worry about the more distant future.

It's a bit of a shame that Voldemort isn't here.

"Waaah..."

In the distance, a thunderbird soared into the sea of ​​clouds, spreading its broad, enormous wings. It suddenly rose high, then turned and plunged into the boundless sea of ​​clouds. That was a thunderbird summoned by the Magical Congress of America, and it was its help that brought rain today.

The thunderbirds flew away, the clouds dispersed, and the drizzle gradually stopped.

Standing on the rooftop opposite was an elderly man with a white beard, whose face vaguely resembled Rolf's. He watched the soaring thunderbird with a smile on his face, then turned to ask, "Nidend, are you really sure no wizard saw a white basilisk?"

"I'm sure." Nidander looked helpless. He was the Magical Creatures expert at the Magical Congress of the United States of America and was responsible for liaising with Mr. Scamander. After all, none of the wizards in Congress could command the Thunderbird.

"What a pity..."

Newt Scamander was somewhat disappointed.

Basilisks have always been present during battles between Death Eaters and Aurors, and I even prepared a large amount of mandrake this time; it seems I'll have to ask the Magical Congress of America for reimbursement. What excuse should I use? Maybe I should say it's food for Thunderbirds. These guys don't know anything about Thunderbirds, and they seem rather dim-witted.

……

It was late at night, and there were only a few hours left until dawn.

"They should still be busy."

Loren stretched and yawned: "I'm sleepy. Let's go find a place to rest."

Hermione looked him in the eyes, her expression calm: "Back to Ilvermorny Castle."

"It's so late, I don't want to go hiking."

"The magic that blocks the appearance of phantoms can't stop you; you don't need to climb."

"I don't understand what you're saying..." Loren took her hand and led her outside.

There are hotels everywhere outside the airport. Choose one with a stylish signboard, where all the lights can be turned on, and there's a small fountain spraying water in front of the door. It looks very high-end.

The two left the airport and arrived at the hotel next door. The lobby was brightly lit, and the waitresses in the front hall were all beautiful women in uniforms, the kind with long, wavy blonde hair, but Loren didn't look at them.

"How can I help you?"

Are there any rooms available?

"Yes, what kind of room would you like?"

"Couple's suite"

"Okay, here are your room keys."

"..."

Hermione turned around and silently looked at Loren beside her.

Loren pursed his lips, but couldn't help but grin, clearing his throat with feigned seriousness: "It's so late, I don't want to bother anyone. Booking one room is more convenient than two, and it saves money, don't you think?"

I don't think so.

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to walk back to her room.

(End of this chapter)