"Gellert Grindelwald?!"
The moment that name was uttered, every Auror present felt their eyes widen in sheer, unadulterated shock. They stared, frozen in disbelief, at the figure stepping slowly out of the shadows.
Ethereal blue flames danced across his aged features, reflecting in his cold, calculating eyes. He didn't even pause as his boots crunched over the wailing black sludge beneath him.
"Grindelwald? The Grindelwald?"
"The First Dark Lord? The man who led the Acolytes and ignited the First Wizarding War?! Isn't he supposed to be rotting in Nurmengard?"
"Why is he here? And how does he know Ethan? They aren't even from the same era!"
The crowd was paralyzed. Some began to wonder if this absurd, nightmarish scene was merely a collective hallucination. The First and Second Dark Lords—standing side by side? Even the most sensationalist hacks at The Daily Prophet wouldn't dare dream up a headline like this.
Grindelwald came to a halt in front of Ethan. His heterochromatic eyes—one dark, one pale—searched the face of the boy before him. He looked almost exactly the same as he had during their first meeting decades ago.
Time had eroded Grindelwald's convictions, weathered his spirit, and stolen his youth. Yet, the decades seemed to have left no mark on this black-haired youth. Or perhaps, to Ethan, decades were nothing more than a passing flick of the fingers.
"Thank you for the gift, Mr. Ethan Vincent," Grindelwald said, his voice heavy with a deep, reflexive respect. "It serves as a reminder that there are still stubborn fools in this world who refuse to see the light."
He was referring to the German Auror, Andre. Despite Andre once being one of his own followers, Grindelwald's tone was ice-cold. He looked up, glancing at the serpentine behemoth coiled atop Hogwarts Castle, and asked casually:
"So, what is the current situation? Have you bred some sort of exotic monster?"
Ethan shrugged. "Oh, that? That's Death."
Grindelwald: "...?"
He reached up and politely cleaned his ear with a finger. "Forgive me. I'm getting on in years, and my hearing isn't what it used to be. Would you mind repeating that?"
"That is [Death]," Ethan clarified. "We're fighting it. Right now, Death is trying to level Hogwarts."
Grindelwald: "..."
The dignified old man's composure finally cracked. His mouth hung open slightly as he stared at Ethan, his brain feeling as though a hundred mountain trolls were stampeding through it.
Are you kidding me?
This was the "bright future" Ethan had promised? From where he stood, it looked like the world was about to end.
"This is a necessary struggle for the sake of a bright and beautiful future," Ethan said firmly. He rubbed his chin, adding nonchalantly, "Besides... it's also to save Mr. Dumbledore from Death's clutches. After all, in the original script of fate, Dumbledore was supposed to die at the end of this term."
The mention of "Dumbledore" acted like a trigger. Grindelwald's expression instantly shifted from bewilderment to grim determination.
"I will handle the perimeter," Grindelwald declared. "Go to the castle and deal with this so-called 'Death.' You needn't worry about anything out here."
With a sharp flick of his wand, ribbons of sapphire-blue fire erupted, weaving a protective web across the fields.
[AAAGH—!!]
The black sludge shrieked as it was incinerated. Ghostly figures writhed and struggled within the flames, but they could no longer reach Ethan.
Ethan's eyes lit up. He gave Grindelwald an appreciative look and patted the old man's frail shoulder like a proud mentor.
"Excellent. The organization didn't cultivate you for nothing. I'm leaving this area in your hands!"
Grindelwald: "..."
So, my Acolytes have basically become your backup squad now?
"Heh. Still just as frustratingly blunt as ever," Grindelwald chuckled helplessly. Watching the spirited Ethan, he saw a reflection of his own younger self—but with a clarity of purpose that was almost enviable. Ethan never hid his intentions; he simply marched forward on the path he chose.
"Truly... it makes one a bit jealous," Grindelwald murmured. He watched Ethan open a portal and let out a soft, nearly imperceptible sigh.
A genius of a century—no, a millennium. This boy was leagues beyond himself or that "bald terrorist," Voldemort.
Grindelwald took two seconds to appreciate the moment before turning his cold gaze toward the stunned Aurors. His voice returned to its usual arrogant, commanding tone.
"Why are you all standing there like statues? Move! Or do you plan on loitering here all night?"
"Oh—yes, sir!"
The Aurors snapped out of it, frantically waving their wands to support Grindelwald's spellwork. Between casts, they exchanged frantic, wide-eyed whispers.
"Ethan can actually order the First Dark Lord around... Good lord, is there anything he can't do?"
"They must have had a very... 'friendly' exchange of ideas."
"Don't just call him Ethan! Have some respect! It's 'The Great Lord Vincent' or [Mr. Lamp]!"
"Blimey, have you already converted to the 'Lamp' cult?"
They turned to their captain, Connie Rosier, for guidance, only to find her staring at Ethan with eyes that shone like stars. Her cheeks were flushed with a feverish intensity.
"Oh... oh yes!" she whispered. "To think even the First Dark Lord is a pawn in your grand design? It's incredible... so powerful... so magnificent!"
"This is true justice! This is the light of our era! I swear my life to your cause!!"
The other Aurors: "..."
Watching their captain turn into a full-blown religious fanatic, they all shared the same thought: It's over. The Rosier bloodline's madness has finally kicked in.
"The British Ministry of Magic is well and truly doomed," one Auror lamented.
Above Hogwarts
The Avatar of Death looked down at the roaring blue flames on the field, a surge of fury boiling in its chest. Its features twisted into a grotesque snarl.
Why?! How is this happening?!
It had just mocked Ethan for being isolated, claiming no one else had the power to stand against it. And now, out of nowhere, the First Dark Lord appears? Where was the logic? Where was the justice?
[DO NOT THINK YOU CAN INTERFERE!!]
Death let out a guttural roar, thrusting a scaled claw toward Ethan. The sheer weight of its power felt like a mountain collapsing. The air compressed instantly, and the blackened portal Ethan had opened began to buckle, its frame bending inward as the gateway destabilized.
Death's orange, reptilian eyes gleamed with malice.
[Watch helplessly as I slaughter your companions, one by one—]
At that moment, a brilliant, silver-white moon suddenly ignited within the dome of the castle. It radiated a cold, lunar glow, and despite its ethereal appearance, it shot toward the serpent's body with the velocity of a falling meteor.
The moment it touched the dark-green scales, it detonated.
BOOM!!
A massive shockwave rippled through the air, looking like a miniature cosmic explosion. Myriads of starlight fragments, draped in a veil of white light, swept outward from the serpent's body.
Then, a piercing, melodic cry tore through the sky.
Like a firework ascending, a crimson shape cut through the darkness, igniting the night clouds into a burning furnace. Fawkes the Phoenix soared upward to join the "Golden Crow" already in the sky. One large, one small—the two divine birds painted the night in shades of gold and red, turning midnight into day.
"Is that...?"
Grindelwald's pupils contracted as he watched the phoenix circle above. For the first time in years, he felt his heart thudding against his ribs.
But... why is the phoenix hanging out with that gold bird?
The Aurors cried out in alarm as the sapphire flames on the ground suddenly surged, fueled by the magical resonance.
[GURGAHH!!]
Under the relentless bombardment, the Avatar of Death shrieked in pain. The seemingly gentle moonlight had blasted its scales apart, sending a chill deep into its marrow that momentarily froze its magic. The Phoenix and the Golden Crow harmonized their songs, creating a restrictive cage that pinned its claws.
[HIGH-LEVEL MAGIC?! NO, IMPOSSIBLE!!]
Is there another high-order being here?!
Death was shaken. For a moment, it felt a sense of profound confusion. Was this still the mortal realm? Where the hell had it been summoned to?
Standing within the shattered dome of the castle were several figures. Leading them was Ravenclaw's "strange girl," the heir to Moon Magic: Luna Lovegood.
Beside her stood Albus Dumbledore—the man who had held his own against three Dark Lords and defeated two of them. Behind them were Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout. Every one of them gripped their wands, their bodies wreathed in the shimmering glow of their concentrated magic.
Despite the terror visible in their eyes, not one of them retreated.
"Don't you dare... get in Ethan's way!" Luna said, her wand pointed straight at the terrifying serpent. Her blue eyes sparkled with a crystalline light. Her voice was calm, yet it carried an undeniable weight.
"Hogwarts may one day fall," Dumbledore said softly, his voice echoing. His face, usually kind and grandfatherly, was now set in a mask of formidable majesty. "But it will not be today."
In the distance, Ethan's eyes flickered, and a faint smile touched his lips.
This was the Hogwarts he wanted to protect. His first real home.
He didn't waste another second. Taking advantage of the moment Death was suppressed, he stepped into the portal. The door snapped shut behind him just as a terrifying force slammed down, crushing the space where the gateway had been.
But Ethan was already gone.
[ROAARRRR!!!]
Death bellowed, its eyes blood-red with rage. [DAMNED, ARROGANT HUMANS!!!]
It slammed its fists against the castle's protective shield. The barrier, woven by the finest wizards, shattered almost instantly. Had it not been for the ancient runes Ethan had laid down at the start, the castle would already be a pile of rubble.
Ethan hadn't teleported to the roof to face Death directly. No one knew where he had gone, but no one believed he had fled. It wasn't just a matter of trusting Ethan's character—it was the fact that a "Great Demon of Khorne" like him would never miss a feast like this.
"We must hold out until Ethan is ready," Dumbledore said grimly. He glanced at the sea of blue fire in the distance, his heart a whirlwind of emotions. Finally, he gave a helpless smile, his fingers brushing the silver trinket in his pocket—the symbol of an old blood pact.
"Ethan truly... never ceases to surprise me."
[Are you waiting for your savior? Heh. I will grind you, and that brat, into the dirt...] the Avatar of Death hissed. [This is your destiny!!]
The only response it received was a blast of lunar energy and a barrage of unwavering spells. They would never surrender to "God." They would never bow to "Destiny." Even mortals possessed the courage to rebel.
The Potions Lab
The roar of an explosion rocked the foundations of Hogwarts. Ethan dropped out of his portal, landing amidst a thick, swirling mist of steam.
Clang!
He casually swatted away a stray curse and looked up with piercing cobalt eyes at the terrified old professor before him.
"It's... it's you, Mr. Vincent...!" Slughorn gasped, nearly dropping his wand in relief. "I thought—"
"Never mind that," Ethan interrupted, stepping forward with an intimidating presence. "Is the Blood Maledictus cure ready?"
Only a healing potion could save the dying Nagini. Only then could they create the unexpected opening needed to defy Death.
"It... it's just one step away...!" Slughorn stammered, gesturing toward a massive, bubbling cauldron. Piles of failed ingredients were heaped like mountains nearby.
There had been so little time. Under any other circumstances, the Wizarding world would be hailing Slughorn as Rowena Ravenclaw reborn for making this much progress so quickly. But here, in a crisis of this magnitude, "almost" wasn't enough.
"I'm missing the final catalyst!" Slughorn cried as Ethan's brow furrowed. He pointed to a cabinet filled with rows of jars. "I've narrowed it down to seven possible ingredients. Only one is the correct answer."
If he had time, he could test them one by one. But he only had one shot.
"If..." The old professor wrung his robes, his eyes flickering with a desperate, hungry light as he looked at Ethan. "If you would let me use Ravenclaw's Diadem just one more time... I know I could find the answer!"
Ethan looked at him. In the eyes of the walrus-like professor, he saw a glimmer of obsession—a look hauntingly similar to the one the Grey Lady had described when she spoke of those driven mad by the crown's promise of wisdom.
--
Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my pa-treon:
pat reon .c-om/windkaze