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HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 235
🕑 Added 2025-10-22 19:57:10 +0000 UTCChapter 235: Fiendfyre
"Ugh..."
Consciousness clawed its way back through the fog. The old man lying on the table slowly sat up and gazed around in confusion.
His eyes looked dull, his movements sluggish, as if his brain had suffered trauma.
He didn't know how he'd gotten here. He couldn't even remember who he was.
His memories were fragmented, scattered into incomplete pieces.
A golden chalice. A green locket. That man who should have been handsome and dashing but had become increasingly strange, increasingly inhuman.
The old man slowly raised his head. A wizard stood before him. His expression was unnatural, but the diadem on his head triggered something familiar.
I should recognize this diadem. The thought stirred faintly in his mind.
What should I do at times like this?
After a moment of confusion, sudden realization flashed in the old man's eyes.
Right. Roll up my sleeve. Look at the mark on my arm.
He slowly lowered his head and pulled up his left sleeve.
A bright red mark came into view. Sealed memories began to revive.
But just as the mark fully registered, a shrill woman's voice cut through the air.
"You! It's you! You're the one who ambushed me when I was going home!"
The old man turned his head. A toad-like woman had appeared nearby, pointing at him with fury twisting her features.
He turned back, ignoring the woman. His gaze locked onto the diadem on the wizard's head.
The diadem's appearance existed in his memories. It was important. Extremely important—
But the woman didn't stop. She stood with hands on her hips, head raised high, looking like a toad preparing to mate.
"You're finished! How dare you attack a Senior Undersecretary of the Ministry! I'm going to send you to Azkaban, I will definitely—"
Her voice faltered. She'd watched the old man's eyes shift constantly—cold one moment, crazed the next. After a few seconds, his gaze refocused on her. He forced two words through clenched teeth.
"Shut up!"
The woman fell silent, chilled by the venom in his voice.
His expression began twisting, the changes growing more violent by the second. The old man started muttering under his breath, unable to stop himself.
"He is good. I should listen to him—"
"No. He killed so many people. I can't keep doing this—"
His thoughts raced in endless circles. Countless voices warred inside his head, each demanding to be heard.
But at a certain instant, those noisy voices were suddenly suppressed by will.
He raised his head again. Only determination remained in his eyes. He extended his hand toward the wizard standing there.
The transfigured wizard retreated fearfully, not knowing what the person intended. But remembering that wizard with the delicious gemstone's instructions, it stopped and stood motionless, meeting the old man's gaze.
The old man had no intention of attacking the wizard. He merely extended those withered arms, tremblingly reaching for the diadem atop the wizard's head.
Moments later, the old man's wrinkled, dry palms touched both sides of the diadem. In just an instant, the withered palms were stained with black. The blackness spread upward, climbing over the entire arm in moments and continuing to extend backward.
"Ahhh—"
The old man's face twisted, as if experiencing something extremely painful. His eyes switched again between coldness and craziness.
"No—no, that's the master—"
"No. It's not. No master. No friends. It—shouldn't exist."
He muttered as his hands gripping the diadem trembled slightly.
The next second, all expression disappeared. The old man slightly opened his mouth, reciting some spell.
Time seemed to freeze. Sudden light flooded the entire room.
Flames.
Endless flames suddenly gushed from within the old man's body. They rolled and leaped, as if finally breaking free from some restraint, crazily devouring the old man's body and the diadem in his hands.
An exaggerated human face appeared on the dilapidated diadem. It howled in the flames—that miserable screaming alone was enough to give one goosebumps.
The flames didn't care how miserably the diadem screamed. They happily devoured everything around them, even vaguely forming a beast with fire-spewing eyes. Its face carried a desire to devour everything, constantly expanding, growing, as if to swallow everything into its belly.
Umbridge had long been frightened speechless by this sudden scene. She could only keep retreating. But behind her was the wall—where could she go?
The wizard who had been standing there was also frightened by these flames and kept retreating. But just as Umbridge focused her attention on the flames without noticing the wizard, a silver-white arc flashed. The wizard's figure vanished instantly.
The flames burned more vigorously. That beast's expression became increasingly excited. But just as the flames were about to reach the ceiling and the beast extended its claws, a calm voice sounded at the room's entrance.
"Finite Incantatem."
Cracks suddenly appeared on the ground. Golden light spread through the fissures, attacking that flame-formed beast.
The beast saw that golden light like a natural enemy and tried to flee backward. But that golden light was too fast. It quickly caught the fleeing beast and wrapped it layer by layer.
Umbridge stared at the scene, frozen in shock. After a long moment, she whipped around toward the source of the golden light.
There knelt a wizard clad entirely in black, his wand plunged into the floor. Golden light radiated outward from the wand's tip, streaming all the way to the beast.
But as Umbridge watched the kneeling figure, a strange unease prickled at the back of her mind.
The magic seemed to have three points of origin. Yet when she glanced around, she saw only Kingsley.
No time to worry about details. She pushed the thought aside.
She scurried closer to Kingsley, completely oblivious to his look of disgust.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Shacklebolt! You saved me—the Senior Undersecretary!"
"When we return, I will certainly mention this to Minister Fudge!"
Kingsley took an imperceptible step back. He did his best to tune out the shrill, saccharine voice beside him, focusing instead on the white ash scattered across the ground. Thank Merlin. This assignment should finally be over.
