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[Marvel's Hogwarts Professor] Chapter 536 - 540
🕑 Added 2025-02-28 01:00:05 +0000 UTCChapter 536
"An ant still dares to be arrogant? Seeking death!"
Voldemort sneered as he gazed at Aragog’s lifeless corpse with disdain. Then, he slowly turned, his piercing crimson eyes locking onto the tense and battle-ready Ian, Wanda, and—of course—Harry Potter.
His lips curled into a sinister smile.
"Harry… Harry…"
His voice was low, a demonic murmur slithering through the air like the whispers of the damned.
"I never expected to meet you again."
The way he spoke, slow and deliberate, sent a shiver down Ron's spine. It was as if his words carried the weight of a cursed fate.
"Fate truly favors me. Almost all my enemies are gathered here today."
As he spoke, he ran his tongue over his lips, his expression twisting into something wicked, his gaze dripping with murderous intent.
"Killing you all… will surely make Lockhart and Dumbledore grieve."
The threat lingered, venomous and absolute.
Yet, despite Voldemort’s ominous words, Ian, Wanda, and Harry remained eerily composed. Their wands were already raised, magic crackling at their fingertips.
Wary. Focused. And… Excited.
Yes, Voldemort could see it clearly—an unmistakable excitement gleaming in their eyes.
There was no fear.
Not in Wanda. Not in Ian. Not even in Harry.
Instead, there was an eagerness—a thrill at facing him, the Dark Lord.
The only scent of terror in the air came from the little witch standing behind them and the trembling Weasley boy, who clutched his wand as if it could somehow shield him from the nightmare unfolding before him.
Voldemort chuckled.
It was a cold, mocking sound.
"Voldemort," Ian spoke at last, his voice steady, his tone firm. "If you attack us here and now, it will mark the beginning of a war between you, Kamar Taj, and Hogwarts."
Ian's unwavering gaze met Voldemort's.
"Our Headmaster Lockhart and Headmaster Dumbledore will stop at nothing to make you pay the price."
Ian wasn’t foolish enough to challenge Voldemort head-on without caution. As the de facto leader of their group, his priority was not to provoke an unwinnable battle, but to ensure the survival of everyone present.
Yet, deep in his heart, a flicker of reckless ambition whispered—if they could push Voldemort to his limits, if they could measure his strength and escape alive, it would be a battle worth remembering.
Voldemort’s smile vanished.
"You… are so ignorant," he muttered.
Then, he laughed.
A chilling, hollow laugh—one that carried a tinge of frustration, a flicker of rage.
Even these little wizards dared to speak to him as equals? To threaten him?
Unforgivable.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Without hesitation, he cast the Killing Curse—aiming straight at Ian.
A streak of dark green death shot through the air, its eerie glow illuminating their faces.
But Wanda’s eyes instantly gleamed with a dark red hue.
Buzz!
A shimmering, red-hued barrier erupted around them in an instant.
The four moved in perfect synchrony, their magic intertwining, and suddenly—they were gone.
Boom!
The Killing Curse struck the ground where they had stood moments ago, leaving behind a deep, smoking crater.
Voldemort’s expression darkened.
They had dodged him.
No.
These wizard apprentices—children—had evaded his Killing Curse.
A blow to his pride. A disgrace.
His crimson eyes gleamed with cold fury as he scanned the area.
Not far from him, the valley still burned—the purple flames trapping the Acromantulas remained strong. Many of the spiders had already been reduced to ashes, while others lay motionless, paralyzed by the poisonous mist.
And then—he saw them.
Wanda, Ian, and the others had reappeared within the cave, their wands raised toward the fiery barrier that had once been their prison.
A moment later—
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Remy flicked his wand, his stance shifting, and the flames expanded outward, surging in all directions.
A blazing inferno, reaching for Voldemort.
The purple fire roared as it approached, growing larger, consuming everything in its path.
Voldemort’s face twisted.
A memory clawed at the back of his mind.
Flames.
A skeleton engulfed in eternal fire.
His other self—Tom—wreathed in torment.
His fingers curled tighter around his wand.
"Enough!"
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
A wave of blood-red mist erupted from his form, spreading outward like a malevolent tide.
The moment it touched the surrounding trees and grass—
Everything withered.
The lush valley—gone.
In an instant, the once-verdant land transformed into a barren wasteland.
Crackle! Crackle! Whoosh!
The flames surged forward, colliding head-on with the mist.
Fire and blood met in a battle of elements—
And the result was unexpected.
At first, the purple flames pushed back the mist, swallowing everything in their path.
But then—
The mist adapted.
It resisted.
It… consumed.
The flames that had once burned so fiercely began to wane.
Remy’s expression tightened.
"Damn it! These things are adapting!" he cursed.
Yes.
They could see it clearly now.
The blood-red mist was not simply mist.
It was alive.
A writhing mass of microscopic, blood-red insects.
At first, the creatures had burned easily, their bodies disintegrating into nothingness beneath Remy’s magic.
But now…
Now, they resisted the flames.
Worse—
They were devouring them.
Remy gritted his teeth.
The fire had begun to falter.
He could feel it—his own magic being drained, eaten away by these insidious creatures.
The air crackled with magic, thick with tension as the battle unfolded.
At first, the purple flames had dominated, burning everything in their path, consuming the blood-red mist with ease. But now—things had changed.
The crimson haze no longer shrank away from the fire. Instead, it fed on it.
The transformation was visible—where there had once been overwhelming purple fire, now more and more red mist churned and expanded. The flames, once all-powerful, were shrinking.
Even as Remy poured every ounce of magic he had into maintaining the inferno, the Blood Abyss Worms grew more frenzied, their resistance strengthening with each passing second.
They surged forward, eagerly devouring the fire, absorbing its power, and multiplying.
From the distance, Voldemort watched with amusement, a faint smirk playing at the edges of his lips.
Yes.
Magic is the most exquisite nourishment.
He had known this well—but tonight, this encounter confirmed it.
And to his pleasant surprise, the magic of these young wizards was delicious.
Richer. More potent. Even better than the wizards he had encountered in France.
His red eyes gleamed with intrigue.
It would be a waste to end this battle too soon.
Instead, he would let his Blood Abyss Worms feast—squeezing every drop of magic from these foolish wizards before crushing them.
After all, these creatures were part of his secret weapon—his trump card against Tom and Lockhart.
With that thought, he subtly commanded the Blood Abyss Worms to slow down—to keep draining more magic before devouring them completely.
Let them struggle. Let them fight.
Let them despair.
But then—
"No! I can't hold out much longer!"
Remy's voice rang out, his body trembling from exhaustion.
He could feel it—his magic draining rapidly. His control slipping.
His flames were rebelling against him.
It was as if they, too, wanted to run.
Wanda, standing beside him, instantly sensed his weakness.
Her mind raced.
Should I take over?
With her power fully unleashed, she believed she might be able to counter Voldemort's blood mist.
Just as she was about to step forward, Ian's voice rang out.
"No!"
Wanda looked at him in shock, but Ian remained firm.
And then, he did something unexpected.
Lifting his wand, he projected his magic outward, amplifying his voice so that it echoed throughout the battlefield.
"Professor Credence, it's time for you to act."
His tone was calm, yet commanding.
He wasn’t looking for a fight to prove himself.
He wasn’t here to be reckless.
As captain, his duty was to ensure the survival of his team.
Even though a part of him yearned to test himself against the Dark Lord, pride had no place in leadership.
And he knew.
Credence was here. Watching. Waiting.
If Voldemort was truly a threat to them, then it was time for their hidden protector to intervene.
If he didn’t—then Ian would make him.
The moment Ian’s voice rang out, a powerful surge of magic erupted from the shadows.
The air crackled.
A presence, one that had remained concealed until now, was forced into the open.
At that same moment, Voldemort turned his gaze toward the west.
A slow smirk curled across his lips.
"So that’s where you've been hiding," he murmured, amused.
Yes, he had suspected that Credence had followed these wizards from the beginning. But he hadn’t been able to pinpoint his presence.
Not until now.
But with Ian’s bold gamble, that uncertainty was erased.
Voldemort's expression darkened.
A fatal mistake.
Because now, Credence had no choice but to act.
Ian, however, merely smirked.
"Checkmate."
From the shadows, a figure emerged.
A tall man, clad in dark robes, his eyes cold yet sharp—Credence Barebone.
Voldemort raised his wand—
And with a simple flick of his fingers, a vast swarm of Blood Abyss Worms surged toward Credence, morphing into a rolling tide of crimson mist.
The Blood Abyss Fog had not yet reached its full evolution.
It still needed more sustenance.
Much more.
And Credence, oh, he looked absolutely delectable.
A powerful wizard, overflowing with raw magic, who had hidden in the shadows for too long.
"Perfect," Voldemort whispered, licking his lips.
This would be a feast.
"Tch."
Credence let out a sharp breath, eyes narrowing.
Without hesitation, he whipped his wand forward.
Black mist exploded outward, surging toward the Blood Abyss Fog like a wave of shadows.
For a moment—just like Remy's purple flames—his attack overwhelmed the mist.
For a moment—he had the upper hand.
But then—it started again.
The blood-red mist adapted.
Resisted.
Then—began to consume.
Within seconds, the black mist was faltering—the very magic Credence wielded was being devoured.
His expression darkened.
He could feel it—his magic draining rapidly, the same way Remy's fire had.
Damn it!
Voldemort was no easier to deal with than Grindelwald.
The blood mist was a nightmare.
Then—
"Lockhart, if you don’t act now, your students are finished."
Credence’s voice cut through the battlefield, ringing out clear and sharp.
Silence followed.
And then—
A ripple in the air.
Above them, the sky shifted.
A figure appeared.
Floating mid-air, his wizard robes shimmered in seven colors, reflecting the hues of powerful magic.
Gilderoy Lockhart.
The moment he arrived, his gaze sharpened—not on Voldemort, but past him.
Then, he spoke.
"Grindelwald, come out."
Chapter 537
Around the massive depression, purple flames formed a cage, trapping a large number of Acromantulas. As the dark green poisonous mist seeped inside, the eight-eyed spiders let out furious roars and howls.
Floating in mid-air, Grindelwald silently observed the scene before him. Watching the purple flames transform into a cage, the corners of his mouth curled slightly, as if unconsciously recalling memories from the past. However, his attention soon shifted to the red-haired girl casting a spell nearby.
His silver-white pupils locked onto Wanda’s dark eyes.
And, of course, the dragon, Snow, perched on her shoulder.
The power of destiny gathers, illuminating your choices and guiding your thoughts.
At last, it has appeared before me.
Any resistance will only serve as further motivation. In the end, fate has already determined the answer.
Destiny—what a magnificent power, and yet… how wicked.
Suddenly—
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
As the purple flames intertwined with the blood-red mist, Grindelwald shifted his gaze. His eyes focused on Voldemort and the blood gushing from his body—the blood-red mist bloodworms.
He had to admit, Voldemort stood in the same echelon as him, possessing undeniable skill.
That blood curse… it’s truly dangerous.
He couldn't fathom how Voldemort controlled it with such ease.
Yet, what surprised Grindelwald the most was—
Fate itself seemed to be gathering around Voldemort.
Here, at this moment, it was as if the entire world was favoring him.
As if celebrating his actions.
Why?
Killing could, at times, earn one the favor of fate.
But there was no doubt—only those who stood against fate would be treated in such a way.
And yet… they have a so-called savior, beloved by fate.
Why, then, is this happening?
Doubt flickered through his mind as he hovered in the air, quietly watching Voldemort, Harry Potter, Wanda, Ian, and the others. He needed more information—more pieces to complete the puzzle forming in his thoughts.
Just then—
"Professor Credence, it's time for you to take action."
Ian's voice echoed through the air, and Grindelwald lowered his gaze to the ground.
Soon, a figure clad in black wizard robes stepped into view.
An old friend.
Grindelwald’s lips curved slightly.
The concealment spell was impressive—Dumbledore and Voldemort had failed to notice him. Grindelwald wasn’t surprised.
But fate had intertwined their paths far too many times.
From their youth, their destinies had clashed, twisted, and entangled, constantly drawn to each other.
And now, once again, fate had brought them to the same battlefield.
Grindelwald could feel it—their destinies colliding once more.
And yet, his old friend’s luck was terrible.
Even now, as he hid, Grindelwald could see through him, as if tracing the lines on his own palm.
At this moment, it would be so easy to kill him.
The thought crossed his mind, but Grindelwald continued observing the battle between Credence and Voldemort.
The Obscurus’ magic was indeed unique.
But in the end, it was still food for the Blood Abyss Insects.
Even with his own mastery over fire, Grindelwald knew these creatures were relentless—constantly evolving, adapting, refusing to be destroyed completely.
Voldemort, blessed by fate, had gained control of these fearsome creatures, making him an even greater threat.
“Lockhart, if you don’t act now, your students will be doomed!”
Credence’s voice rang out sharply.
Grindelwald’s gaze snapped upward toward the sky.
A familiar figure clad in a seven-colored wizard robe came into view.
Lockhart.
At the same time, Lockhart was smiling at him.
Their eyes met—silver-white pupils locked onto emerald green ones.
They both smiled.
They had sensed each other’s presence long ago.
As Lockhart’s name was spoken aloud, Grindelwald finally revealed himself to everyone.
The battlefield was shifting.
On the ground, black mist intertwined with blood-red mist and purple flames.
In the sky, Lockhart and Grindelwald faced each other—one in vibrant wizard robes, the other in gray.
Whoosh!
As the blood-red mist gradually retracted, Credence dispelled the black mist of his magic, and Remy withdrew his purple flames.
The Blood Abyss’ fog slithered back into Voldemort’s body.
Slowly, Grindelwald and Lockhart descended to the ground.
“We meet again, Grindelwald,” Lockhart said with an amused glint in his emerald eyes.
As he spoke, the power of dreams around him shifted, evolving into a pale golden glow—the power of destiny.
"Yes, Lockhart," Grindelwald replied calmly. "I must admit, I didn’t expect us to meet here."
His gaze swept over the darkened Forbidden Forest, and he muttered with faint emotion, "If only Albus were here again."
Then, with a probing tone, he added, "Lockhart, I’m curious—what exactly did you say to Albus to persuade him?"
"He was always so resolute… I can hardly imagine him choosing to stand aside as a mere observer."
Lockhart, however, ignored the question. Instead, he idly toyed with the ring hanging from his hand.
Their conversation, however, did not sit well with Voldemort.
Ever since he had uncovered Lockhart as the mastermind behind the scenes, an uncontrollable killing intent burned within him.
The thirst for revenge gnawed at his mind.
"Grindelwald, if you want an answer, it's simple."
Voldemort raised a single finger and enunciated every word:
"Capture Lockhart. I will extract the truth from his memories."
A cruel smirk stretched across his face.
"Why waste time talking when bloodshed will tell us everything?"
As he spoke, blood mist surged from his body once again, forming a storm behind him.
Voldemort had always despised excessive talking before a fight.
Words rarely yielded useful information—everything always ended in battle regardless.
Of course, he was free to talk as much as he wanted.
But others?
Well, he was Voldemort—a master of double standards.
Grindelwald frowned slightly but knew that getting answers from Lockhart through conversation alone was impossible.
So—
Whoosh!
With a mere flick of his right hand, blue flames dripped onto the ground like water.
In an instant, Fiendfyre roared to life, surging outward and rapidly encircling them.
He didn’t direct it at anyone—instead, the flames formed a massive ring around the battlefield.
The remaining grass inside the ring withered in seconds before igniting, unable to withstand the searing heat.
Soon, only scorched earth remained within the circle of fire.
Lockhart, Credence, Voldemort—all of them were now trapped inside.
A battlefield had been set.
"This is how it should be," Voldemort murmured, licking his lips in anticipation.
Behind him, the blood mist churned violently, expanding like a looming storm.
Lockhart’s eyes gleamed with prismatic light as he extended his palm.
In an instant, a radiant barrier of dream energy erupted before him.
Wanda, Ian, Harry, Hermione, and the others hurried behind him.
As for Credence, he calmly stepped forward, joining Lockhart’s side.
Raising his wand, the familiar black mist of his magic began to swirl once more.
Chapter 538
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The wind howled as a massive, blood-red storm surged toward Lockhart and the others.
The radiant energy barrier shimmered with dazzling light. From behind the thick, glass-like barrier, Wanda and the others stared at the oncoming storm of blood.
Within the storm, countless crimson blades spun at high speed, tearing through the air, aiming straight for them.
Even though Wanda and Ian had unwavering faith in their mentor, Ian still found himself clenching his fists, his palms damp with sweat.
In the blink of an eye—
BOOM!
The blood-red storm crashed against the colorful barrier, producing a deafening explosion.
Zhila! Zhila!
Through the transparent surface of the barrier, Hermione could clearly see the countless blood-colored blades slicing against it, trying desperately to break through.
The sharp, grating sound of their relentless assault made Ron, Hermione, and the others instinctively cover their ears.
The shrieking noise was unbearable as the blood-soaked blades frantically scraped against the barrier.
Even Lockhart furrowed his brows slightly before casually waving his hand. At once, shimmering ripples spread across the barrier, and the deafening sound gradually faded.
At that moment, Voldemort narrowed his eyes as he realized that the storm of blood was being held back by the barrier.
Licking his lips, he seemed to grow impatient.
With a swift, forceful motion, he swung his wand like a conductor’s baton.
At his command, a vast swarm of Blood Abyss Insects reassembled into a dense, crimson mist.
The thick, blood-colored mist spread rapidly, creeping toward the radiant barrier.
And yet, the original storm continued its relentless assault, slashing and slicing, determined to tear everything before it apart.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
Lockhart frowned. He could feel countless tiny, crimson insects attempting to devour the dream energy infused within the barrier.
These things… they can consume the power of dreams?
Even if their consumption was minimal, this was an ominous sign.
“Lockhart, be careful! These blood insects can devour energy and adapt quickly,” Credence warned from the side, his voice tinged with unease.
Through the thick mist, a flash of fear crossed his eyes.
He had once existed as an Obscurus, a being of pure destructive magic—yet even that had been consumed by these creatures.
They were a wizard’s worst nightmare.
Lockhart nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
Raising his wand, he traced an elegant arc through the air.
At once, radiant, seven-colored light flared, illuminating the Blood Abyss Insects crawling across the barrier.
Then—
The blood-colored mist darkened.
The insects on the barrier flickered, their bodies becoming semi-transparent, their forms shifting into an eerie, translucent red glow.
And finally—
They vanished.
As if they had never existed at all.
Voldemort, however, remained unshaken. Without hesitation, he merely flicked his wand once more.
The blood-colored mist returned, surging forward to consume the radiant barrier yet again.
To the Blood Abyss Insects—
You may kill me once or twice… but you can never kill me ten or twenty times.
Devour. Adapt. Evolve.
It was their instinct. Their nature. Their talent.
Go ahead, destroy us.
The more they were slaughtered, the more they would consume. The more they consumed, the more they would evolve.
They were a singular entity—what one learned, all would learn.
They were eternal. They were absolute.
More and more Blood Abyss Insects swarmed forward, and the bloodstorm itself began to shrink, morphing into a vast network of crimson tendrils that wrapped around the colorful barrier.
Sensing the delicacy of the dream energy, the insects attacked with even greater fervor, devouring it like starving beasts at a grand feast.
Even as their bodies faded and dissolved into nothingness, their hunger remained insatiable.
The dream energy was delicious—tempting, irresistible, like an imperial banquet laid before them.
For the briefest moment, Lockhart caught sight of a strange flicker among the insects.
Some of them—just a handful—seemed to shimmer with a faint, prismatic glow.
But just as quickly as it appeared, the light faded.
On the sidelines, Grindelwald observed with narrowed eyes, his expression growing cautious.
Terrifying.
How in the world did Voldemort create such a monstrosity?
How many lives did he have to take to make something like this?
Through his own innate talent, Grindelwald could sense the anguished screams of countless souls trapped within the mist.
Without mass slaughter, such creatures could never have been born.
Lockhart, too, felt the dream energy within the barrier weakening at an alarming rate. His expression darkened.
The backlash from world consciousness is this severe?
Even though these creatures were an unnatural abomination, shouldn’t the world itself try to correct them?
Unbelievable.
Silently cursing, Lockhart flicked his wand, sending streaks of prismatic light flashing through the air.
At the same time, a dense, colorful mist began to spread from the barrier.
Rather than repelling the crimson mist—
It merged with it.
The two forces intertwined, coiling around each other like twin serpents in an endless struggle.
And then—
The blood-colored mist thinned.
The insects swarming against the barrier hesitated, as if locked in combat against the dream energy.
If one looked closely—zooming in to see the mist on a microscopic level—
They would see something remarkable.
Among the swirling colors, new insects were forming—tiny creatures of seven-colored light, nearly identical to the Blood Abyss Insects, save for their shimmering hues.
As soon as they emerged, they sought out the nearest Blood Abyss Insects—
Colliding with them.
And perishing together.
Yes—Lockhart’s power of dreams was at work.
If he willed it, he could create anything.
Of course, true replication required deep understanding. Otherwise, he could only mimic appearances, not functions.
Though he couldn’t perfectly recreate the Blood Abyss Insects—
He could make them self-destruct.
The colorful mist continued to spread, devouring the crimson mist in a matter of seconds.
But—
Lockhart could feel it.
The consumption rate of his dream energy was increasing.
What once required a single portion now needed one and a half—no, two, or even three portions to erase completely.
He sighed.
As expected, world consciousness is always troublesome…
Especially when it had an evil avatar working in its favor.
These creatures were evil incarnate.
Like Grindelwald, Lockhart could sense the staggering scale of slaughter that had birthed them.
Even for someone as detached as him—who cared little for matters beyond himself—he couldn’t help but inwardly shudder.
Then—
His gaze shifted.
He turned toward Wanda.
“Wanda,” he said calmly, “I need your help with what comes next.”
“We’re going to expel the consciousness of the world—”
“And create a new battlefield.”
Chapter 539
Buzz!
After hearing her mentor Lockhart’s words, Wanda slowly stepped forward to stand beside him.
Her steps were hesitant, as though an invisible weight pressed down on her shoulders.
Yet, despite the burden, her determination never wavered.
With each step she took, her red hair—along with her eyebrows—gradually transformed into a spectrum of colors.
It was as if she were being reshaped by some unknown force, assimilated into something greater.
Soon, her entire form—her hair, her eyebrows, even her clothes—became infused with the radiant hues of dream energy.
Like Lockhart.
The only thing that remained unchanged—her brilliant red eyes.
In fact, they burned even more intensely than before, shimmering with a faint crimson glow.
Talent—Probability Control.
No.
After years of training, deliberate cultivation, and the consumption of vast resources—
It could no longer be called simple probability manipulation.
It was the hand of fate itself.
Gently, Wanda placed both palms against the shimmering barrier of energy.
At that moment, in her vision—
Time seemed to freeze.
Everything fell into utter silence.
Countless threads of multicolored light intertwined before her, woven into an intricate and ever-changing web.
Just by observing it, she could feel reality shifting.
For a fleeting instant, Wanda felt as though she had stepped into the heart of chaos itself—
A realm where infinite possibilities and choices surged forward, blooming like a kaleidoscope of dazzling, disordered light.
She saw the endless tapestry of futures.
Each filled with hope.
Each filled with despair.
A flood of incomprehensible information poured into her mind, twisting together in an overwhelming cascade.
It was too much.
It felt as though her head would explode.
Behind her, Ian, Hermione, and Harry watched anxiously as Wanda’s breathing quickened, her heartbeat racing.
Her hands trembled violently.
Blood-red tears streamed down her cheeks.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Forcing herself to recall her training, Wanda fought to steady her mind.
She had to calm herself.
She had to choose correctly.
But the weight of a thousand realities bore down upon her, drowning her in visions of despair.
For a fleeting moment—
She thought about running.
About escaping.
Yet she held firm.
She would endure. She would adapt.
After all, the fate she sought to unravel was not just for the wizards—
It was for the entire world.
The price of failure would be immeasurable.
She did not know how long she remained in that void.
Perhaps an entire day had passed.
Perhaps only a second.
But then—
She saw it.
A single, true possibility.
A path forward.
Reaching out, she extended a trembling fingertip—
And touched it.
Clang!
Destiny began to unravel.
Everything fell into place.
In an instant—
The vibrant mist that had filled the air transformed into countless glistening raindrops.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Moisture filled the air as the downpour washed over the battlefield.
But what was it washing away?
From the sidelines, Grindelwald observed with keen interest.
The blood-red fate that had once coiled around Voldemort like an unbreakable shroud—
Was fading.
Even the Blood Abyss Worms began to wither, their hunger vanishing as their energy drained away.
And strangely enough—
Grindelwald himself felt… lighter.
As though unseen chains had been lifted from his soul.
What is this?
For a brief moment, a terrible suspicion flickered in his mind.
But he could not be certain.
At that moment, Lockhart’s lips curled into a triumphant smile.
World consciousness had been expelled.
At least, for now—
In this place—
They stood beyond its reach.
Like an unseen force had been banished.
Voldemort, once a mere villain in a story dictated by fate, had become something greater.
The blood-red power of destiny had clung to him, stronger even than it had once clung to Harry Potter.
But why?
Lockhart had always suspected the truth.
The Blood Abyss Worms, with their endless hunger and limitless adaptability—
They could not have been created by Voldemort alone.
Lockhart had never believed that.
Had world consciousness itself been involved?
Had it chosen Voldemort as its new champion?
If he was wrong, he’d eat his own wizard’s robe.
In this battle, Lockhart was not merely fighting Voldemort.
He was fighting Voldemort and the will of the world itself.
And the greatest weapon of the protagonist?
It wasn’t golden cheats or fateful coincidences.
It was the ability to defy reason.
To turn desperation into power.
And if that monstrous trait was combined with the abyssal insects—
Lockhart felt his scalp tingle.
They had acted just in time.
If they had waited any longer, the insects would have fully adapted to dream energy.
Expelling world consciousness, even for a moment, was enough.
And Wanda’s power was the key.
She bound fate itself.
Even if the chance was one in a billion—
Once it succeeded, it became inevitable.
To exile an entity from its own world—
Lockhart and Wanda could not do it alone.
But with the same source of dream energy—
And Wanda’s miraculous ability to tie destiny into knots—
It was done.
The moment the expulsion was complete—
Lockhart struck.
Without hesitation, a torrent of prismatic light erupted from his wand—
Like a machine gun firing beams of pure destruction.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Before Voldemort could react—
Before the explosion’s roar could even echo—
His body was annihilated.
Not a trace remained.
Only the massive craters left in the wake of Lockhart’s assault and the flickering flames of colorful energy remained, bearing silent witness to his power.
And above, the raindrops fell onto the blood-red mist.
The mist dissolved.
The abyssal insects perished.
Then—
While world consciousness was still absent—
Lockhart’s gaze shifted.
Toward Grindelwald.
Throughout the battle, Grindelwald had done nothing but draw the battlefield’s boundaries.
He had merely watched.
Perhaps, even he had been shaken by Voldemort’s power.
Then—
“He’s not dead yet,” Grindelwald said.
Just a simple statement.
He didn’t need to specify who.
Lockhart understood.
Voldemort.
“Oh?” Lockhart feigned curiosity, then smirked. “So what?”
“If I can kill him once—”
“I can kill him again.”
Grindelwald locked eyes with him.
“Can you, Lockhart?”
His voice was calm.
"Do you really believe you can defeat Him?"
That word—"Him."
A title that implied something sacred.
Something supreme.
Lockhart fell silent.
The raindrops grew sparse.
The world around them was returning to normal.
But—
A powerful, unseen force was searching.
Hunting.
Time was running out.
Grindelwald spoke urgently—yet only Lockhart could hear him.
“Lockhart, your true enemy is Him.”
“For that—”
“I can only wish you luck.”
Then—
The raindrops stopped.
Grindelwald’s body erupted into raw, chaotic magic.
And—
He self-destructed.
His final words echoed:
"I don't know if you are from our world, Lockhart—"
"But meditation is not."
"Remember my words. We may not be enemies."
Chapter 540
Buzz!
Chaotic and disordered magic surged outward as Grindelwald’s figure disintegrated into a single point of light, slowly fading into nothingness.
At that moment, Credence stood frozen, watching in disbelief.
Grindelwald—his lifelong enemy—was gone.
He had witnessed it with his own eyes, yet his mind refused to accept it.
No matter how powerful Lockhart was, even if he could obliterate Voldemort in a single strike—
Grindelwald would never simply commit suicide.
And yet, all of his magic had been released in a wild, uncontrolled storm, leaving behind undeniable proof.
Grindelwald was dead.
And he had taken his own life.
Confusion flickered in Credence’s eyes.
Reason told him it was impossible—
Reality told him otherwise.
Beside him, Lockhart seemed to sense his turmoil. He placed a firm hand on Credence’s shoulder, but said nothing.
Though he remained silent, Lockhart inwardly sighed.
As expected—once someone reaches the pinnacle of power, death is never truly the end.
Voldemort had his Horcruxes for resurrection.
Who was to say Grindelwald didn’t have his own contingency?
These top-tier wizards always had backup plans.
Even while preparing to eliminate one another, they never forgot to secure an escape route for themselves.
Ironically, Lockhart momentarily forgot the fail-safes he had left behind in the Dream Realm.
As for why Grindelwald had chosen to take his own life so suddenly—
Lockhart already had an answer in his mind.
If you want to attract investment, you have to put on a show first.
Who would fund you if you didn’t prove you were serious?
Just look at Voldemort—
Even Grindelwald himself wouldn’t dare claim he could defeat this version of Voldemort.
At that moment—
“Teacher…”
Wanda’s voice trembled as she closed her tear-streaked eyes.
“I… I feel like someone is watching me.”
Her breathing was ragged, her hands shaking.
“It feels like an endless malice is surrounding me… stalking me…”
Hearing this, Lockhart stepped closer.
Gazing at Wanda’s exhausted, panic-stricken face, he sighed.
With gentle movements, he wiped away the blood-red tears that stained her cheeks.
The warmth of his touch—so familiar—seemed to calm her.
The fear in her eyes dimmed slightly.
“Sleep, Wanda.”
His voice was soft.
“When you wake up, everything will be back to normal.”
As if enchanted by his words, Wanda’s tense body gradually relaxed.
Her eyelids drooped.
Within moments, she fell into a deep slumber.
With a flick of his wrist, Lockhart sent her sleeping form into the safety of the Dream Realm.
Watching this, Ian took a step forward, concern evident in his eyes.
“Mentor… is Wanda going to be okay?”
Remy and Vera stood beside him, their expressions equally anxious.
They had trained together, fought together, lived together.
No matter what happened, they would always worry about one another.
Lockhart nodded calmly.
“Don’t worry. Wanda will be fine—I’ll make sure of it.”
Though his words were steady, a sense of urgency pressed at the back of his mind.
Expelling world consciousness had come at a price.
You don’t just kick someone out of their own home without consequences.
If it were him, wouldn’t he be furious? Wouldn’t he want revenge?
Apparently, in this Harry Potter world, Wanda had become the primary target.
The moment she revealed herself—
World consciousness had taken notice.
And now, all its malice was locked onto her.
More importantly—
Wanda wasn’t originally from this world.
Though the system worked tirelessly to conceal her presence, she wasn’t like Lockhart.
If world consciousness searched thoroughly enough, it would eventually uncover the truth.
After all—
No matter how well someone forged documents, created false histories, or built an identity…
A deep enough investigation would always find cracks.
And once she was exposed—
The consequences would be unpredictable.
Lockhart understood this all too well.
The world consciousness of Harry Potter never hesitated.
If the system hadn’t been hiding his own presence—
He would have been the first target.
Instead, world consciousness had chosen to empower Voldemort as a countermeasure against him.
Because the system was shielding him, the world was blind to his exact whereabouts.
It could sense his interference—
But it couldn’t pinpoint him.
And because world consciousness lacked a will of its own, it could only act on instinct.
Without a target, it couldn’t attack directly.
It could only indirectly eliminate him—
Through Voldemort.
And yet—
Even that might not last much longer.
At that moment, a flood of warning messages flashed in Lockhart’s mind.
[Warning: World consciousness is actively searching for the host. The system is being blocked…]
[Projected timeline: Estimated lock-on in 10 days.]
[Recommendation: Leave the Harry Potter world immediately.]
Lockhart sighed inwardly.
He had planned to stay in this world for ten years.
Now, he had ten days.
If he didn’t leave soon—
Every ancient monster, every destroyer, every long-forgotten horror sealed within this world would be unleashed upon him alone.
Meanwhile, in France—Beauxbatons Academy of Magic
Deep beneath the school, in an ancient underground palace, silence reigned.
There were no people.
No sound.
Only darkness.
Then—
A faint, blood-red glow flickered to life.
A suffocating aura filled the chamber, primal and unsettling.
Suddenly—
A vast magic circle ignited in the center of the palace.
Scarlet runes glowed, pulsating like living veins.
Looking at them—
One would feel nauseated.
As though endless suffering and torment had been woven into their very essence.
The runes pulsed, feeding magic into the circle.
Slowly—
From the crimson mist, something began to emerge.
Tiny, invisible to the naked eye—
A Blood Abyss Worm.
Then another.
And another.
The mist thickened.
The magic circle’s glow intensified.
And then—
A figure began to form.
From nothingness, white bones materialized.
Flesh wrapped around them.
But it was wrong—
Blood-red runes etched themselves into the surface of his skin.
Just looking at them would make one dizzy, as if staring into an abyss of madness and agony.
As time passed, the mist filled the underground palace.
Then—
His scarlet eyes snapped open.
A young Voldemort stood there—
Reborn.
And stronger than ever.
More powerful than before.
Even the Blood Abyss Insects had evolved.
He took a deep breath—
Power coursed through him.
A feral grin spread across his face.
Lockhart—
As long as I live…
You will be the one to die.
But first—
I have a puppet to deal with.
